^^.<> 


J 


2,  w. 


it/! 


DUKE 

UNIVERSITY 

LIBRARY 


J,, 


Treasure  %qom 


m& 


MMM 


aw 


9 


buEnealB 


T       H       K 


;  FRIEND   of    YOUTH, 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE 


FRENCH  of  M.  BERQUIN  \ 


COMPLETE 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES, 


VOL.     I. 


N  E  V/'B  U  R  T  P  0  K  T: 

PRINTED      BY     JOHN    MYCALL,     FOR     THE 

PROPRIETOR    OF    THE    BOSTON    BOOK- 

STORE,    N*  59,    CORNHILL,    BOSTON. 


PREFACE. 

TO  thofe  who  are  acquainted  with  the  merit  of 
Mr.  Berquin's  firjt  publication?  for  the  ufe  of 
Children?  which  he  jullly  entitled  the  Children's 
Friend,  it  will  be  unnecejfary  to  advance  any  other 
circum fiance  in  favour  of  the  following  zuork?  than 
that  it  is  the  preclusion  of  the  fame  Gentleman,  by 
whom  that  elegant  and  moral  performance  was  given 
to  the  world*  Being  calculated  for  the  perufal  of 
Children  of  a  tender  age?  it  naturally  admitted  a  hind 
of  Sequel  or  Counterpart?  for  the  inflrutiion  and  en- 
tertainment of  young  perfons?  who  are  rather  paji  the 
period  of  childhood?  and  yet  may  be  fuppofed  incapable 
of  thinking  for  themfelves.  The  following  Sheets 
contain  what  has  hitherto  been  publijhed  entire  by  the 
Author?  on  this  pian?  under  the  title  of  The  Friend 
OF  Youth.  It  is  neceffary  to  be  obferved?  that  this 
vjork?  in  the  original?  came  out?  as  did  the  Children's 
Friend,  in  detached  periodical  pieces?  and  therefore 
has  not  yet  arrived  at  the  ultimate  point  to  ivhich 
Air.  B.  propofes  to  continue  it.  Nevertheless?  it 
was  thought  more  advifeable?  to  gratify  the  impatience 
of  the  public?  with  what  is  fini filed  of  it?  than  to  wait 
the  uncertain  arrival  of  the  little  ivhich  remains  to 
be  added. 

In  order  to  make  amends  far  this  deficiency?  what- 
ever it  may  be?  the  Tranfator  has  joined  the  Hi/lory 
of  Little  Grandifon,  (from  which  an  extract  isprevi-  ' 
oufly  given  in  the  fir  fl  volume)  to  the  pieces  which  com- 
pofe  the  Friend  of  Youth.  It  was  tranfiated  from 
the  Dutch  by  Mr.  B.  who  found  it  to  ppjfefs  nearly 
the  fame  fpirit  with  his  own  works?  and?  therefore? 
A 2  judged 


iv  PREFACE. 

judged  it  a  proper  prefentfor  thofe  readers  to  whomhe 
bad  dedicated  his  pen.       'I  his  Gentleman's  laudable 
induflry,  has  led  him  to  examine  the  productions  of 
Jevcral  modern  languages,  and  from  the?n,  to  felecl  fuch 
as  appeared  to  an/iver  the  purpofe  which  he  had  in 
view.     Among  the  reft,  he  has  introduced,  in  the  fol- 
lowing collcclion,  a  piece  or  tivo  from  the  Englijh,  of 
which  it  will  be  //efficient  to  obferve,  that  they  are  here 
infer  ted  in  the  language  of  the  jeveral  originals  to 
which  they  belonged,  as  being  obvioufly  the  mojl  natu- 
ral drefs  that  they  could  affume,   and  beyond  compari- 
Jon,  the   moft  fatisjaclory  to  an  Englijh  reader.      No 
tranjlation  can   be  fuppofed  capable  of  conveying  thj 
fpirit  and  freedom  of  the  original :  and  this  would  be 
found  particularly  to  be  the  cafe  in  the  latter  of  the 
pieces  alluded  to,  7"he  Narrative  of  a   Shipwreck 
on  the  Ifland  of  Cape-Breton,  ivhich  opens  the  fe- 
cond  volume.     The  fubjeel   of  this  narrative  being 
partly  nautical,  it  would  be  found  to  j'uffer  corftdera- 
Lly,   and  appear  to  much  lefs  advantage,   if  delivered 
in  any  other  ft yk  than  the  Englijh,   in  ivhich  it  was 
firfl    compofed.         Indeed,    the   abfurdity  of  transla- 
ting from  a  foreign  language,  what  would  be  read 
infinitely  more  fatisfaelion  as  an  original,   is  fs 
■:nt,  that  it  does  not  require  any  further  comment. 
If  a  critical  irfpeclion  of  this  work  Jhould  difcover 
fome  of  the  pieces,   in   their  prefent  form,  to  contain^ 
now   and  then,    a  Jl  ght  improbability,   it   will,  no 
doubt,  be  attributed  to  Us  real  eauje,  the  difference  of 
national  manners.     The  ejfeft  of  this  circumftance  is 
portaht,   that  a  j  mail  defeel  of  probability  coutd 
not  ahfoluiely  be  avoided  in  [erne  caje:,  zvithotrt  mili- 
tating againfi  both  the  intent  and  mitral  of  the  Ah- 


PREFACE,  v 

thor>  as  well  as  deranging  the  whole  plot  and  conduct 
of  many  of  his  pieces.     An  imperfeftion,  which  will 
always  be  found  to  jubfifl  inherently  in  every  perform- 
ance like  the  following,  where  it  is  propofed  to  adopt  ^ 
for  in  fiance,  French  manners  and  actions  to  Englijh 
characters.     A  copyift  in  painting,  would,  probably, 
often  find  it  a  difficult  tafk  to  fupport  the  propriety  of 
any  particular  aftion  reprefented  in  a  pifture,  were 
he  obliged  to  alter  the  coftume  of  the  figures  exhi- 
bited in  the  original,      Thus,  it  may  be  prefumed,  the 
pifture  of  an  Augvjlan  Triumph  vjould  not  fo  flrong- 
ly  imprefs    the  jpcftator  with   an   idea  of  grandeur, 
were   the  perfonages  in    the'  procejfion    habited  like 
Dutchmen  :  or,  on  the  other  hand,  if  a  company  of 
Roman  Senators  were  reprefenied  as  bufily  engaged  in 
the  fantaflical  chace  of  a  Pantomime,  the  mummery 
of  the  aftion  ivould  no  longer  be  preferved,  but  muti 
unavoidably  be  overclouded  with  a  cafi  of fohmnity  un- 
natural to  it.- 

Imaginary  aftions,  therefore,  when  adapted  to  one 
particular  national  charafter,  are  not  eafily  transfer- 
able ;  or,  whenever  it  is  attempted  to  make  themfo, 
either  the  aclion  or  the  char  after,  is  liable  to  fuffer  a 
partial  dijguife,  and  be  fc en,  as  it  were,  through  a 
mid.  Infuch  a  cafe,  they  will,  neither  of  them,  af- 
fect the  imagination  of  the  reader  with  fo  lively  a 
force,  as  when  they  appear  with  the  advantage  of 
their  orginal  congruiiy.  But  this  observation  applies 
more  confpicuoufly  to  Novels,  where  a  fingle  moral 
refulis  from  a  feries  of  complicated  aft  ions  interfper- 
fed,  perhaps,  with  a  variety  of  epifodes  appending  to 
the  main  /lory.  I  know  not  whether  Gil  Bias,  the 
Fortunate  Villager,  and  a  feiv  other  novels,  may  not 
be  adduced  as  injtances  to  elucidate  what  has  been  a- 
A3  bove 


vi  PREFACE. 

hove  remarked :  but  in  a  work  like  the  prefect,  con~ 
Ming  ofjhotl  pieces,  in  which  we  quickly  arrive  at 
the  moral,  and  find  it  generally  to  conjliiute  the  moll 
leading  feature,  it  is  not  fo  difficult  to  accommodate 
the  maimers  and  atlions  of  each  perfonage,  to  the  ge- 
neral uniformity  of  human  life,  and  to  divrft  them  of 
that  nationality  which  would  he  more  cbfcrvable  in 
narrative  pieces  of  greater  extent. 

Upon  the  whole,  it  lies  with  the  judicious  reader  to 
determine,  zvhether  any  confderahle  offences  againjl 
verifunilitude  occur,  in  the  folloiving  cclleelion.  The 
TranJIatcr  hopes  he  has  rcajon  to  conjole  hin.fl/ 'in  the 
rcf-ilion,  that  he  has  ufed  all pcjfibie  diligence  to  avoid 
any  fuch  ;  and  if,  notwith [landing  his  endeavours,  the 
cenfure  o)  critic  fn  foculd  fajhn  on  a  few  imperfeli- 
■  this  nature,  quas  aut  incuria  fudit, 
Aut  humana  parum  cavit  Natura, 
he  has  only  to  jhcltcr  Simfelf  behind  the  ivell- earned 
reputation  of  the  Author,  whfe  labours,  jo  eminently 
beneficial  to  youth  in  general^  he  has  endeavoured  par- 
ticularly to  adapt  to  the  improvement  of  the  rijhg  ge- 
neration in  this  country. 


CONTENTS 


E   vii   l 
CONTENTS 

TO      THE 

FIRST    VOLUME, 

Page 

THE  Fickle  Youth          —          —  9 

Flattery            —           —           —  29 

"Whimfical  Anfwer  to  an  Italian  Letter  39 

The  Cavern  in  the  Peak  defcribed        —  40 

Ode  on  Domeftic  Happinefs                 —  47 

The  Peafant,  his  Country's  Benefactor  51 

Syftem  of  the  World              —           —  68 

Damon  and  Pythias                  —           —  116 

The  Siege  of  Colchefter        —           —  130 

Hie  Lawfuit              —           —           —  164 

Loft  Time  recovered               —           —  170 

Jafper  and  Emilius                   —           -*-  177 

The  Punimment  of  Pride       —           —  190 

The  Increafe  of  Family           —           —  396 

The  Humorous  Engagement                —  203 

Charles  11.                   —            —           —  209 

Adventures  of  Charles  II.  in  his  Flight  308 

The  Hat                     —           —           —  319 

Little  Grandifon                     —          —  325 

THE 


THE 

FRIEND   of    YOUTR 


THE    FICKLE    YOUTH, 

JACK  WHIRLER  was  endowed,  by  nature, 
with  a  happy  memory,  a  ripe  underftanding, 
and  a  lively,  aclive,  and  fruitful  imagination. 
Fortune  feemed  to  enfure  the  accomplishment  of 
every  hope,  that  could  be  founded  upon  fo  pro- 
mising qualities,  by  allotting  him  parents,  whofe 
warmelt  wishes  ever  were,  to  cultivate,  in  their 
ion,  that  pregnancy  of  parts,  which  he  had  re- 
ceived from  the  hands  of  nature.  An  extraor- 
dinary quicknefs  of  apprehenficn  had  advanced 
him,  confiderably,  in  his  tender  ftudies,  at  an 
early  period,  and  he  was  already  eager  to  unite 
the  ornament  of  exterior  accomplishments,  to  the 
more  folid  acquirement  of  mental  inftru&ion. 

It  happened,  that,  on  a  vim  to  one  of  his 
young  companions,  he  found  him  engaged  in 
drawing  a  Reman  head,  which,  from  the  charac- 
terise grestnefs  cf  the  countenance,  imprefTed 
him  with  the  moft  lively  fentiments  of  admira- 
tion. As  his  friend  advanced  toward  the  finifii- 
ing  of  his  portrait,  young  Whirler  felt  thefe  fen- 
timents grow  in  his  mind  with  additional  ardor. 
Some  other  pieces,  which  the  room  afforded  ia 
the  fame  ftyle,  completely  infpired  him  with  fuch 

an 


30     THE    FICKLE    YOUTH. 

an  enthufiafm  as  Raphael  experienced  on  flrft 
taking  tiie  pencil  in  his  hand. 

He  returned  home  at  full  fpeed,  and,  meeting 
his  father  on  the  flairs,  he  threw  his  arms  fond- 
ly round  him,  and  requeued  him  to  go  immedi- 
ately, and  engage  him  a  drawing- mafter.  His 
father,  charmed  with  the  earneftnefs  that  he  ex- 
preffed,  was  eafily  induced  to  gratify  this  defire. 
They  went,  therefore,  together,  to  the  moft  ce- 
lebrated matter  in  town;  and  Jack  Whirler  would 
have  been  happy,  could  he  have  prevailed  on 
him  to  give  up  all  his  other  pupils,  and  confine 
his  inftruclions  to  Kim  morning  to 

night.  As  he  could  not  obtain  this  facririce,  he 
infilled,  however,  that  each  leilon  mould  conti- 
nue, at  leaft,  two  hours  every  day.  He  had  no 
conception,  how  any  one  could  refrain  from  de- 
voting every  moment  of  his  life,  to  the  cultiva- 
tion of  fo  divine  an  art. 

His  malter  was  not  to  come  until  the  next  day. 
I  will  not  tell  you  how  many  faces  he  had 
fketched  before  night.  His  port-folio  was  already 
full  of  heads,  drawn  in  every  poffible  variety  of 
character,  though  you  will  certainly  excufe  him, 
if  they  did  not  difcover  that  correefnefs  which  is 
the  refult  of  long  practice.  There  was,  perhaps, 
a  large  eye,  to  match  a  frnall  one,  in  the 
fame  face  ;  the  nofe  was  made,  fometimes,  to 
rife  out  from  the  middle  of  the  forehead,  and 
the  ear  would  come  to  hear  the  mouth,  or  the 
mouth  to  bite  the  ear,  acrofs  the  whole  breadth 
of  the  cheek  :  but,  except  thefe  trifling  faults, 
his  performance  had  all  the  corretStnefs  that 
eould  be  rcafonably  expected. 

He 


THE    FICKLE    YOUTH,     n 

He  had,  himfeif,  prepared  m  enormous  meet 
of  paper,  the  largeft  that  was  to  be  had  in  town. 
This  was  loon  found  too  fmali  to  contain  the 
number  of  eyes,  ears,  arms  and  legs,  that  he 
had  fetched  out  uncW  the  direction  of  his  maf- 
rier.  The  hofpitals  of  Greenwich  and  Chelfea, 
would  here  have  met  with  excellent  patterns  to 
replace  si!  the  loft  members  of  thofe  honeft  ve- 
terans who  inhabit  them.  His  natural  impati- 
ence was  a  little  fretted  by  the  tedious  famenefs 
ot  thofe  effays,  to  which,  his  firfi  leffons  were  ri- 
gidly confined,  in  order  to  fteady  his  hand.  As 
foon,  therefore,  as  he  was  alone,  he  launched 
out  freelv,  beyond  the  bounds  of  this  flow  pro- 
cefs,  afpiring  already  in  idea,  to  the  execution  of 
complete  and  grand  pictures.  The  garret-walls 
had  been  newly  white-wafhed  ;  he  formed  the 
deftgn  of  painting  them  with  the  hiftory  of 
Rome,  which  he  was  juft  then  reading  at  (choo(; 
and,  in  effect,  at  the  week's  end,  there  appeared 
drawn  upon  them,  in  charcoal,  a  comely  fucceffi- 
on  of  heads  and  bulls  of  tribunes  and  of  con- 
fuls,  with  dictators  a-fooi,  and  emperors  on 
horfeback  ;  and  I.  doubt  not,  that  if  the  names 
had  been  placed  under  their  refpeclive  figures,  in 
order  to  render  them  perfect  refemblances,  an 
antiquary  might  have  found  means  to  bring  forth 
a  number  of  interefting  and  learned  remarks, 
touching  this  gallery. 

He  was  proposing  to  himfclf  to  reprefent,  in 
the  fame  ftyle  of  execution,  the  progrefs  of  our 
hiftory,  down  from  the  conquer!,  when  he  one 
day  found  his  whole  work  effaced  by  the  fervants, 

■who 


12    THE     FICKLE    YOUTH. 

who  pretended,  that  thefe  Roman  heroes  upon 
the  wall  only  frightened  the  cats',  but  did  not 
drive  the  mice  away.  This  mifhap  a  little  aba- 
ted the  ardor  of  his  paffion  for  drawing  :  his 
difappointment  at  feeing  himfelfftill  far  behind 
his  young  friend,  whom  he  had  expected  at  his 
farit  attempt  to  overtake,  alienated  ftill  more  his 
liking  for  the  art.  He  prefently  grew  fearful  of 
dirtying  his  ringers  with  the  chalks,  or,  of  making 
gaps  in  his  pen-knife,  by  cutting  them.  His 
mailer,  who  at  firft  had  fo  much  trouble  to 
moderate  his  eagernefs,  now  found  it  a  more 
difficult  tafk  to  re-animate  it.  In  vain,  did  he 
enumerate  to  him  the  wonderful  effects  of  paint- 
ing j  and  the  curious  anecdotes  that  are  found  in 
the  lives  of  the  great  artifts.  He  had  introduced 
to  him,  a  pupil  of  his,juft  returned  from  Rome  ; 
en  purpofe  to  entertain  him  with  an  account  of 
the  fuperb  paintings  that  he  had  feen  and  ftudied 
in  Italy.  This  young  gentleman,  in  expreiling 
his  admiration  of  thofe  performances,  made  ufe 
of  Italian' words,  either  as  bcin;*  more  ready,  or 
more  figniricant  ;  the  founds  were  new  to  Jack 
Whaler's  ears  ;  and  it  ftruck  him  in  a  moment, 
that  to  fpeak  fo  melodious  a  language  was  a  much 
finer  thing,  than  ro  draw  heads  j  which,  let  them 
be  ever  fo  exprerTive,  could  not  talk.  He  ran 
immediately  to  communicate  this  reflection  to 
his  father,  who,  though  grieved  to  fee  him  thus 
qu't  an  agreeable  accomplifjiment,  of  which  he 
had  before  been  fo  paflionately  defirous,  did  not 
however  chufe  tooppofe  this  new  tafteof  his;  and 
the  next  day,  JackWhirler  hud  an  Italian  mailer, 
in  the  room  of  his  teacher  in  drawing, 

i 


THE    FICKLE     YOUTH.     13 

I  muft  do  Jack  the  juftice  thus  publicly  to  de- 
clare that  his  progrefs  for  the  fkft  two  or  three 
days  kept  pace  with  his  .refoiution.  Every  gram  > 
matical  difficulty  gave  way  to  the  quicknefs  of 
his  comprehenfion.  He  grew  fond  to  enthufi^ 
aim  of  a  language. fo  full  of  fweetnefs  and  har- 
mony ;  and  was  inceffantly  talking  it  to  the  peo- 
ple of  the  family,  without  troubling  his  head 
whether  they  could  underftand  it,  He  addrefie£ 
vthe  cookmaid  with  Vojlra  Signcria^  and  called  the 
gardener  Cor  mio.  The  Italian  tranflaticn  of  * 
Cato  became  as  familiar  to  him  as  the  original 
■In  examining  his  father's  library  for  authors  in 
this  language,  he  laid  his  hands  by  chance  on  a 
Spanifh  Don  Quixote.  Don  Quixote  !  the  far 
vofite  of  his  earlieft  ftudies  !  Oh  !  what  a  plea  ■ 
fure  to  be  able  to  taile  the  droll  proverbs  of  his 
honeft  'fquire,  when  feafoned  with  all  the  hu,- 
rnour  of  their  native  language  1  Ca':o's  grave  ih~ 
liloquy  was  not  to  be  compared  to  the  deleclabJe 
fallies  of  Sancho  ;  nor  the  little  fenate  of  Uti- 
ca,  to  the  council-chamb&r  of  the  Baratarian  go- 
vernor. This  undertaking,  however,  required 
courage.  Here  he  was  to  engage  inceflantly  with 
ftrauge  words,  like  the  knight  of  the  rueful  vi- 
iage  with  windmills  and  flocks  of  (heep.  He 
came  off,  however,  with  at  leafl  as  much  honor 
as  the  knight  in  this  mil  campaign.  But  will 
you  believe  me  ?  Before  the  hero  of  La  Mane  ha 
had  fallied  forth  a  fecond  time  in  quell  cf  zdven- 

B  /  tures, 

♦ 

*  The  Tragedy  of  Cato,  written  by  JvTr.  Addifop, 
was  tranflated  into  Italian  by  Salvini,  and  a'&ed  at  Flo- 
rence* 


M- 


THE     FICKLE    YOUTH. 


tures,  Jack  V/hirler  had  quitted  the  Spanifh  to 
learn  French,  which  he  foon  gave  up  in  order  to 
Audy  the  German.  So  that  at  the  end  of  the 
year  he  was  already  a  fmatterer  in  four  living  lan- 
guages, but  fo  imperfect  was  he  in  each,  and 
jumbled  them  together  in  his  difeourfe  after  fuch 
a  fafhion,  that  he  mould  have  had  an  audience 
compofed  of  deputies  from  thefe  different  nati- 
ons, to  interpret  one  to  the  other  the  unconnect- 
ed fcraps  and  phrafes  that  each  might  happen  to 
underftand  in  his  converfation. 

Dexterity  in  exercilcs  of  the  body  feems  to 
lend  both  help  and  ornament  to  a  well  cultivated 
mind,  and  the  mod  extenfive  knowledge  will  not 
atone  for  awkwardnefs,  in  the  eyes  of  the  fairer 
part  of  fociety.  Jack  Whirler  had  met  with  a 
difagreeable  proof  of  this,  at  a  ball  which  was 
given  by  his  papa  on  feme  particular  occafion. 
In  the  courfe  of  this,  Jack,  notwithstanding  his 
erudition,  had  put  all  the  dancers  out  feveral 
times.  He  therefore  refolved  to  inftruct  himfelf 
in  the  principles  of  thif  agreeable  art ;  but  fcarce- 
3y  had  he  begun  the  minuet  fteps,  when  his  head 
ran*  upon  the  rigadoon,  and  nothing  elfe.  What 
he  moil  earneftly  wifhed  to  learn  in  each  leflbn 
was  exactly  the  part  of  dancing  that  he  mould 
not  be  taught  as  yet.  Always  eager  after  what 
he  did  not  know,  and  diffatisfled  with  what  he 
had  learned,  he  could  lay  up  nothing  in  his  me- 
mory with  the  lead  order.  Thus  he  would 
fometimesjfcjJUr*  in  when  he  mould  crofs  over^  and 
Jhujff^mhixi  he  mouldy;^.  He  found  no  diffi- 
culty in  dancing  the  hays  when  the  company  fet 
out  with  a  cotillion,  nor  had  he  ever  occafion  for 

a  change 


THE    FICKLE    YOUTH.      15 

a  change  of  time  in  the  rouiic  to  Mart  off  him- 
fe\(  in  a  Scotch  reel,  while  he  left  his  partner 
moving  a  minuet. 

All  this,  it  may  be  fuppofed,  produced  no 
fmall  confufion  among  the  young  people  his 
companions  of  the  dance;  in  order  therefore  to 
reinitate  himfelf  in  the  flavor  of  the  ladies, 
which  he  had  loft  by  this  abfent  and  volatile  dif- 
pofition,  he  fet  about  learning  mufic,  that  he 
might  be  able  to  accompany  either  the  voice  or 
the  harpfichord.  But  what  instrument  fhould 
he  attempt  firit  ?  To  take  his  word  for  it,  there 
was  nothing  eafier  in  the  world  than  to  praiStife 
them  all  at  once.  However  his  father  did  not 
think  proper  to  rifk  this  experiment,  and  gave 
him  only  the  liberty  of  chufmg  his  initrument. 
While  he  was  uncertain  as  to  this  point,  the  vi- 
olin feemed  a  proper  one  to  take  in  hand  by  way 
of  trial,  and  it  was  not  till  fix  months  after,  that 
he  fixed  his  choice  decidedly  on  the  flute,  juft  as 
he  began  to  attempt  an  open  fhake,  and  to  bow 
with  tolerable  fteadinefs. 

In  the  mean  time  his  father  grew  fome what 
uneafy  on  obferving  this  unfettied  and  change- 
able difpofition  of  his  fon,though  a  parent's  fond- 
nefs  induced  him  to  attribute  the  fault  to  youth 
alone.  With  a  view  therefore  to  advance  the 
improvement  of  his  understanding  by  obfervation 
and  experience,  he  determined  to  fend  him  upon 
a  to.ur  to  the  continent.  Jack  Whirler  defired 
no  better  than  to  (hi  ft  the  fcene.  The  narra- 
tives ot  travellers  had  always  been  a  favorite 
reading  with  him,  and  his  imagination  had  a 
thoufand  times  tranfported  him  to  the  countries 
B  2  which 


i6     THE    FICKLE    YOUTH 

which  they  defcribe.  A  young  friend  of  his,  who 
was  juft  returned  from  France,  gave  him  fo 
favorable  an  account  of  the  reception  that 
he  had  found  in  that  country,  and  drew  fo  pleaf- 
ing  a  picture  of  the  improved  ftate  of  arts  and 
fociety  there ;  defcribed  in  fo  warm  terms  the 
engaging  vivacity  and  elegance  of  the  ladies, 
with  the  frank:  and  open  politenefs  of  the  men  ; 
offered  him  fuch  flattering  letters  of  recommen- 
dation to  fome  of  the  nobility  at  Paris,  equally 
eminent  for  exalted  talents  and  amiable  qualities  ;  ' 
in  fine,  the  happy  effects  already  produced  by  the 
commercial  union  of  the  two  nations,  and  the 
profpeft  opened  to  both  of  enriching  themfelves 
by  a  free  and  reciprocal  interchange  of  their  pro- 
ductions, and  of  preserving  the  repole  of  Europe 
by  the  envied  example  of  their  happinefs,  as 
well  as  by  the  terror  of  their  arms  ;  all  thefe 
ideas,  united  in  defcription,  did  fo  inflame  hi* 
natural  eritmifiafm,  that  he  could  not  contain  his 
defire  of  vifiting  that  polite  nation  ;  nor  was  it 
pofiible  to  moderate  his  joy,  when  the  moment 
arrived  that' he  was  to  fet  out,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  a  preceptor,  equally  remarkable  for  his 
good  fenfe  and  attachment  to  the  family  of  his 
pupil. 

One  fnould  have  viewed  the  extenfive  plains 
of  Picardy,  interfperfed  with  the  agreeable  land- 
fcape  of  diitant  hamlets,  or  Hoping  hills  crown- 
ed with  orchards  and  hopyards  in  full  bloom, 
to  conceive  the  impreflion  which  this  enchanting 
fight  produced  on  the  mind  of  our  young  travel- 
ler. Even  the  rapidity  of  bis  imagination  could 
Scarcely  keep  pace  with  the  fucceflion  of  ftrikirtgf 

objects 


THE     FICKLE    YOUTH.      17 

objects  which  his  tour  afforded.     A  continued 
rapture    of  admiration  conducted   h:m   to   the 
gates  of  Paris,  where  it  was  ftill  further  heigh- 
tened by  a  view  of  the  fuperb  palaces  and  other 
magnificent  buildings  which  adorn  that  capital. 
The  firft  few  days  after  his  arrival,   he  fpent  in 
viewing  every  quarter  of  it.     The  grandeur  of 
the  public  edifices,  the  innumerable  concourfe  of 
inhabitants,  the  delicious  gardens  which  abound 
both  in  the  city  and  its  environs,  the  fplendor 
and  elegance  that  fhone  in  the  drefTes  of  the  no- 
bility, the  fightly  decorations  of  their  places  of 
public  refort,   and  the  unbounded  feftiviry  that 
reigns  in  their  private  and  convivial  circles  ;  all 
thefe  charms  united,  might  be  fuppofed,  with  the 
addition  of  novelty,   to  produce  fenfations  pro- 
portionable to  the  ardour  and  fufceptibility  which 
young  Whirler's  imagination  pofTefTed. 

So  they  did  at  firft  5  but  the  impreffion,  lively 
as  it  was,  foon  vanifhed.     His  eager  curiofity 
once  fatisfied,  he  felt  this  paflion  fucceeded  by 
languor  and  fatiety.     His  tutor  perceived  it,  and 
propofed  to  him  to  vifit  fome  of  the  provinces. 
Jack  Whirler,  in  the  height  of  his  joy,  could  on- 
ly anfwer  him  by  preffing  entreaties  to  engage  a 
poft-chaife  for  that  purpofe  againft  the  next  day. 
I  fhall  not  follow  them  in  the  whole  of  their 
excurfion,  for  fear  of  growing  tirefome  to  my 
young  reader  ;  I  will  only  ftoo  with  them  a  mo- 
ment at  Salency,  a  town  celebrated  for  the  per- 
formance of  a  ceremony  the  moft  affecling  and 
Angular,  that  perhaps  the  whole  world  can  afford, 
in  this  age  of  degeneracy.      There  the  younger 
female  inhabitants  are  early  infpired  with  The 
B  3  love, 


a  S     T  H  E    F  I  C  K  t£    YOUT  H. 

love,  and  encouraged  in  the  practice  of  fru 
probity,  and  innocence.     She  who  is  by  univer- 
sal confent  pronounced  the  mod  virtuous  maiden 
of  the  village,  receives  from  the  hands  or  its  il- 
ludrious  proprietor  a  crown  of  rofes  j  which  ho- 
nour is  conferred  once  a  year,  on  a  day  that  is 
obferved  as  a  feftival  from  the  public  celebration 
of  the  cuftom  ;  and  this  ornament,  fimple  as  it 
is,  hath  more  powerful  and   univerfal  effect:  on 
the  morals  of  the  riling  generation,  particularly 
the  female  part  of   the   peafantry   of    SaJency, 
than  the  mod  laboured  or.  oitentatious  panegy- 
ric, the  warmed  efTufions  of  popular  app'aufe,  or 
in  fine,  than  any  other  incentive  whatsoever,  up- 
on thole  of  their  fuperiors  in  rank  and   under- 
danding.     There  virtue  and  merit  are  habitually 
revered,  and  the  acquifition  of  the  rofe  garland, 
the  reward  of  unblemilhed  fame  and  purity  of 
manners,  is  viewed  with  more  honed  and  more 
juftly  founded  emulation,  than  trophies  of  mili- 
tary prowefs,   or  the  tinfel  decoration  and  titles 
of  a  datefman,  can  excite  in  the  bofoms  of  the 
great. 

Objects  attractive  and  intereding  furrounded 
Jack  Whirler  in  every  part  of  his  tour  ;  he  found 
every  where  a  fufrkient  variety  of  matter  both 
for  indruclion  and  amufement  ;  but  it  was  the 
misfortune  of  his  difpofition  never  to  wi(h  for 
any  thine;  but  what  was  out  of  his  reach,  and  ne- 
ver to  think  any  place  agreeable,  unlefs  he  weie 
a  hundred  leagues  didant  from  it.  What  mod 
employed  his  thoughts  during  this  tour  in  France, 
was,  (as  he  fometimes  termed  it  in  a  rapture)  his 
dear  Italy,     In  the  Louvre  at  Paris,  he  looked 

round 


THE     FICKLE     Y  O  U  T  H.     19 

round  for  the  Roman  Capital,  or  the  Temple  of 
the  Sun,  and  was  now  fighing  for  the  (nattered 
villages  of  Calabria  in  the  midftof  the  vineyards 
of  Champagne.  His  tutor  had  tried  all  poffible 
means  to  cure  him  of  this  reftlerThefs,  but  foon 
became  apprehenfive,  left  his  endeavours  to  that 
purpofe  mould  only  ferve  to  throw  his  pupil  into 
aconfumption,  and  therefore  he  feconded  the  re- 
queft  which  the  latter 'had  made  to  his  father  for 
pXermiffion  to  fet  out  for  this  fame  Italy,  which  he 
now  longed  to  behold  as  much  as  ever  the  wan- 
dering Trojans  did  in  the  days  of  yore, 

Except  in  crofting  the  channel,  all  Jack  Whir- 
ler's  travels  had  hitherto  been  upon  dry  land,  and 
it  was  now  two  months  fince  he  had  begun  mea~ 
furing  the  port- roads  of  France.  This  was  e- 
nough  to  put  him  out  of  humour  with  all  tra- 
velling unlefs  by  fea.  His  tutor  conceived  hopes 
of  bringing  him  to  a  reasonable  difpofitiori  by  a- 
ereeing  to  the  experiment,  and  pretended  to  re- 
]i(h  it  as- much  as  he  did.*  They  embarked  there- 
fore at  Marfeilles,  on  board  a  vefTel  bound  to 
Leghorn. 

Jack  Whirler  pafTed  the  flrlt  day  entirely  up6& 
deck,  where  he  could  not  help  admiring  the  waves 
of  the  fea,  which  were  gently  impelled  by  the 
wind,  and  feemed  to  come  in  playful  fuccefiion 
fporting  round  the  (hip's  fidns.  The  next  day 
he  was  Mill  fo  clever  in  his  own  eyes  for  having 
had  the  courage  to  undertake  this  expedition., 
that  his  felf-complacent  reflexions  on  the  fubject 
kept  off  the  approaches  of  fatiety,  But  the 
third  day,  both  his  agreeable  mufmgon  the  beau- 
ties of  the  fea,  and  his  iatisfa&ion  in  thinking  fo 

highly 


20    THE    FICKLE    YOUTH. 

highly  of  himfelf,  quttc  forfook  him.  Nothing 
remained  but  the  weariforne  difguit  that  he  felt 
in  the  famenefs  of  his  voyage.  He  now  longed 
lo  be  on  (hoic,  all  the  wifhes  of  his  heart  were 
directed  towards  the  land  :  but  unfortunately  it 
was  too  far  off  to  gratify  his  caprice.  Nor  did 
old  ocean  feem  to  uie  any  extraordinary  haite  in 
tranfporting  him  to  the  term  of  his  willies,  fo 
that  he  was  obliged  to  be  patient,  or  rather  (as 
his  temper  inclined  him)  to  be  out  of  patience, 
until  the  (hip's  arrival  at  her  port. 

Happy  power  of  imagination,  which,  through 
the  fweet  illudons  of  hope,  fteals  from  us  the 
remembrance  of  our  troubles  !  Jack.  Whirler 
forgot  all  his  at  his  landing.  He  was  now  at  length 
happily  arrived  in  that  famous  country,  the  ftore- 
houfe  of  all  the  riches  both  of  nature  and  art. 
After  repofing  himfelf  two  days  at  Leghorn,  he 
fet  out  for  Florence.  He  knew  that  the  famous 
gallery  of  paintings  in  that  city  made  it  the  re- 
fort  of  travellers,  marry  of  whom,  even  after 
continually  viewing  it  for  fix  months,  found 
their  curiofity  ilill  unfatisfied.  and  remained  in 
town 'in  fpite  of  their  refojutions  of  departing 
every  day.  This  did  not  feem  fo  orange  to  him 
at  his  iirft  calling  his  eye  upon  that  fuperb  col- 
lection of  mailer-pieces.  Perhaps  he  would  even 
have  remained  in  the  fame  mind  until  he  had  got 
to  the  end  of  the  gallery,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  idea  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  and  the  Vatican 
Library,  that  juft  then  (truck  him.  Theie  two 
edifices  took  up  his  thoughts  the  whole  day,  and 
prelei  red  themielvcs  in  unbounded  magnificence 
to  his  imagination.      In  order  to  form  a  decifive 

eftimate 


THE    FICKLE    YOUTH.     it 

eftimate  of  their  fplendour  and  dimensions,  he 
prefTed  his  tutor  that  fame  evening  to  fet  off  for 
Rome.  Never  tell  me  of  thole  tedious  travellers 
that  pry  without  end,  and  take  an  age  to  %ifc< 
mine  any  remarkable  objea  !  Jack 'W  hide?,  in 
three  days,  had  feen  every  thing  that  was  curious 
in  the  antient  capital  of  the  world,  and  had  even 
fome  of  that  time  to fpare,  which  he  employed 
in  putting  together  his  baggage  for  a  trip  to  Na- 
ples, whither  he  was  already  tranlporr^d  in  idea. 
It  was  not  however  the  particular  beauties  of  this 
latter  place  which  excited  his  curiofiiy  fo  ftrong- 
ly  ;  he  had  lately,  it  is  true,  palled  through 
many  magnificent  cities,  but  ail  that  Kb  had  hi- 
therto ken  were  above  the  fur  face  of  the  earth, 
Whereas  Herculaneum  and  Pompeia  were  buried 
in  its  bowels.  Cities  finder  ground  were  all  that 
he  now  thought  worth  his  notice.  The  roman- 
tic fruitfulnefs  of  his  imagination  formed  to  him 
a  thoufand  pictures  of  the  terrible  event  which 
had  reduced  them  to  that  Rate.  He  was  fur- 
prifed,  on  going  down  among!!  their  ruins,  to 
iind  that  he  had  fallen  in  lo^/e  with  a  hesp  of  rub- 
bifh  5  for  he  law  nothing  more  at  that  time, 
notwithstanding  the  many  curious  remains  of 
antiquity  that  have  been  difcovered  among 
them.  Another  would  at  leail  have  found  fome 
confolation  in  admiring,  at  Naples,  one  of  the 
fin  eft  harbours  in  Europe,  but  Jack  Whirlep 
could  not  help  contrafting  it  with  thofe  of  Am- 
fterdam,  Portfmouth,  or  Constantinople;  which 
appeared  to  him  much  finer,  becaufe  they  were. 
at  a  diltance.  As  to  that  burning  mountain 
which  commands  the  town  of  NT3pJes,and  makes 

its 


22      THE    FICKLE    Y  O  U  T  K. 

its  fituation  awful,  as  well  as  piclurefque,  by  in- 
ceffantly  threatening  to  bury  it  in  afhes  and 
flames  ;  did  not  all  travellers  allow  iEtna  to  be 
far  before  Vefuvins  ?  Certainly  ;  and  the  dread- 
ful c/Tedrs  of  its  hit  eruption  conveyed  to  his  mind 
every  idea  of  terror  and  admiration  that  a  vul- 
cano  bah  excite.  Thus  in  that  dear  country 
which  jack*Whirler  had  fo  earneftly  defired  to 
vifit,  tHere  remained  but  one  fingle  town,  the 
fight  of  winch  could  recompenfe  the  fatigues  of 
Ms  journey.  This  was  Venice,  fo  fingularly 
different  from  all  the  other  cities,  rifing  from  the 
middle  of  a  huge  morafs,  with  her  canals,  her 
gondolas,  and  her  five  hundred  bridges.  To  ar- 
rive there,  he  mult  travel,  it  is  true,  the  whole 
length  of  Italy,  but  his  imagination,  as  it  was 
bold  in  fmoothing  every  obfracle,  fo  it  was  clear- 
righted  in  fhortening  every  diftance,  and  he  only 
waited  to  have  his  portmanteau  packed  up,  that 
he  might  take  the  road  towards  Venice. 

1  am  afraid,  my  young  friends,  that  you  have 
before  now  fufpected  his  tutor  to  have  been  too 
tamely  complaifant,  as  you  have  ktn  him  give 
way  to  all  his  pupil's  whims.  I  fee  that  to  juf- 
fify  him,  I  mulVhere  difcover  to  you  a  family  fe- 
rret, repofing  at  the  fame  time  the  ftricieft  confi- 
dence in  your  difcretion.  During  the  whole  of 
his  tour,  Jack  Whirler  had  written  home  regu- 
larly to  his  father,  who  remarked,  that  his  letters 
always  exprefTed  a  fort  of  tiifguft  for  the  place 
from  which  they  were  dated,  while  he  feemed  in 
raptures  with  that  which  he  was  next  to  vifit  : 
thus  it  appeared  that  every  country,  though  it' 
?nted  him  at  a  diftance  with  flattering  pro- 

fpecls, 


THE     FICKLE     YOUTH.     23 

fpecls,  never  failed  to  tend  him  away  tired  and 
difappointed.  Thefe  remarks,  coniirmed  by 
thole  of  his  fon's  tutor,  which  after  what  you 
have  read,  you* may  eafily  imagine  were  quite  to 
the  fame  effect,  gave  him  to  uhderftand,  that  his 
fori  was  not  of  a  temper  or  frame  of  mind  cal- 
culated to  receive  much  improvement  fr©m  tra- 
velling. However,  he  did  not  chufe,  by  haftily 
recalling  him,  to\  furniih  him  with  a  pretext  for 
complaining  at  a  future  period,#that  he  had  there- 
by loft  the  opportunity  of  improvement.  He 
barely  recommended  to  the  tutor  not  to  oppofe 
his  fon's  changeable  whims,  which  wojjld  of 
themfelves  be  Tufficient  to  bring  him  home  in  a 
fnort  time*  Thus  Jack.  Whirler,  after  he  had 
feen  Venice,  Turin,  Switzerland  arid  Flanders, 
all  at  full  fpeed,  did  now,  in  a  frefh  fit  of  incon- 
stancy, wim  for  no  more  than  to  return  to  his 
own  fire-fide,  even  before  the  time  which  he  him- 
felf  had  ftipulated. 

A  parent  never  forgets  that  name  ;  you  may 
imagine,  therefore,  what  Mr.  Whirler  felt  at  the 
return  of  his  fon.  But  why  have  I  not  here 
thofe  tranfports  of  joy  to  defcribe  to  you,  which 
polTefs  a  father's  heart,  when  a  child,  worthy  of 
his  warmeft  affection,  is  reftored  to  him  after  ab- 
fence  ?  Why  can  I  not  reprefent  them  to  you, 
clafped  in  each  other's  arms,  fpeechfcfs  with  joy, 
and  mixing  their  tears  together  ;  the  father  proud 
of  the  new  accomplifhments  that  he  obferves  in 
his  fori* and  the  latter  happy  to  (hew  them  toad- 
vantage  before  the  eyes  of  a  parent,  as  the  pro- 
pereft  return  that  he  could  make  to  his  fatherly 
affection  and  good  wifhes  ?  How  happy  mould  I 

have 


U     THE    FICKLE    YOUTH. 

have  been  to  lay  before  you  fo  touching  a  fcene, 
even  though  it  mould  lofe  by  my  defyiption  ! 
You  would  at  leaft,  as  well  as  your  parents,  have 
obferved  in  it,  with  pleafure,  the  artlefs  exprefii- 
on  of  thofe  fentjme'nts  with  which  you  feel  your- 
felves  mutually  affected .  It  was  in  Jack.  Whirl- 
er's  power  to  have  made  us  all  thus  happy,  by  a 
better  improvement  of  the  attention  that  had 
been  paid  to  his  earlier  years.  Nothing  would 
have  been  wanting  to  his  education,  either  as  to 
learning  or  accomplishments,  if  he  could  have 
had  the  refolution  to  conquer  the '  reftleffnefs  of 
his  drfpoiition,  and  confine  himfelf  to  a  more 
conftant  2nd  uniform  courfe  of  application.  In- 
ftead  of  that  fickle  tafte  which  hurried  him  from 
one  ftudy  to  another,  wading  through  the  diffi- 
culties that  render  the  beginning  of  each  dry 
and  difagreeable,  and  never  taking  time  to  enjoy 
the  fatistadtion  which  a  more  advanced  progrefs 
affords ;  inftead  of  thofe  delufions  of  fancy, 
which  dreffed  out  diitatit  objects  in  a  flattering 
manner,  only  to  make  thofe  which  were  prefent, 
appear  in  more  unfavorable  colours  ;  inflead  of 
being  perpetually  difgufted  and  out  of  humour 
jyith  the  faint,  unsatisfactory  ideas,  which  a  clofe 
infpecYion  afforded  him,  of  obje&s  tfiat  his  ima- 
gination had  exaggerated  while  at  a  diftance ; 
what  a  furgd  of  ii'ncere  pleafing  ideas  might  he 
have  laid  up  for  himfelf !  Not  to  mention  the 
deljgUt  which  a  youth  of  fpirit  feels  in  outftrip*- 
ping  the  expectations  of  his  family,  htfw  great 
would  have  been  his  fatisfaction  in  this  import- 
ant rdjpeft,  that  the  fjrft  and  ftrongert  principle  of 
nature  would  have  made  his  improvement  the 

fource 


T  HE     FICKLE     YOUT  H.     a£ 

fource  of.  happinefs  to  his  parents,  in  the  paoft 
exquifite  degree  ! 

You  have  feen  Jack  Whirler,  from  his  child- 
hood equally  fond  of  learning  and  agreeable  ac~ 
complifhments,  fet  out  in  purfuit  of  them  with 
the  m oft  unbounded  eagemefs,  and  thinking  to 
carry  every  thing  at  the  firft  attempt,  ftruggle 
gallantly  with  the  rnoi>  difheartenirig  difficulties 
for  a  while,  and  then  give  up  the  conteft  at  the 
very  moment  when  he  was  about  to  get  the  bet- 
ter of  them.  In  addition  to  his  natural  deiire 
of  knowledge,  and  the  encouraging. applaufe  of 
his  parents,  had  he  been  endowed  with  a  little 
more  command  over  himfelf,  he  might  have  ac- 
quired every  thing  that  would  add  ornament  as 
well  as  happinefs  to  his  future  life.  His  reafors. 
early  matured  by  ftudy,  and  his  tafte  for  agreeable 
relaxations  would  have  prefervedhis  youth  from 
that  reftletfhefs  which  torments  him,  and  from 
that  wearifome  difguft  which  he  conceives  to 
every  object  that  becomes  once  familiar  to  him, 
From  his  acquaintance  with  both  the  principles, 
and  practice  of  the  fine  arts,  he  would  have 
looked  upon  nothing  with  indifference  in  thp 
courfe  of  his  travels.  The  view  of  thofe  mafter- 
pieces  of  art  which  foreign  countries  afford,  while 
it  gratified  his  curiofity,  would  have  improved 
his  tafte.  His  underftanding  would  have  been 
enlightened ,  by  the  variety  of  objects  that  met 
,  his  view,  his  judgment  corrected  by  ftudyina: 
.their  differences  and  relations,  his  knowledge  of 
the  world  enlarged  by  obferving  the  manners 
and  characters  of  men  in  different  countries. 
Strangers,  flattered  with  the  defire  which 
C  a 


26     THE    FICKLE    YOUTH. 

a  youth  of  education  teftifies  to  vifit  their 
country,  conceive  the  moft  advantageous  pre- 
judice in  his  favor,  and  receive  him  with  the 
politfcft  attention.  Thus  admitted  into  every 
diftinguimed' circle,  he  might  have  done  honour 
to  his  name  and  country,  by  that  manly  franknefs 
and  fincerity  of  manners  which  I  would  recom- 
mend to  my  young  countrymen  as  the  moft 
dTential  accompaniment  to  politenefs,  inafmuch 
as  it  certainly  beft  conciliates  friendship,  efteem, 
and  refpe&.  He  would  have  returned  home  re- 
gretted by  thofe  whom  he  had  left,  welcomed  by 
liis  former  friends,  and  doubly  fo  by  his  parents, 
to  whom  he  would  then  have  afforded  the  moft 
reafonable  ground  of  hope  for  his  future  fuccefs 
in  life. 

How  far  was  Jack  Whirler  from  this  happy 
(ituation,  to  which  his  circumftances  ieemed  fo 
naturally  to  lead  him  !  In  all  the  towns  through 
which  he  had  travelled  at  full  fpeed,  his  con- 
verfation  was  chiefly  with  the  landlords  of  the 
hotels  where  he  took  a  fhort  repofe  after  the 
fatigues  of  riding  poft.  His  countrymen  had 
little  to  promife  themfclves  from  the  feeble  ftock 
of  information  that  he  had  collected  ;  his  father 
taw  all  his  hopes  difoppointed  ;  and  his  friends— 
but  his  ficklenefs  was  inconfiftent  withfuch  a  re- 
lation— Jack  Whirler  had  no  friends.  Unhappy 
youth  !  I  pity  him  when  I  think,  my  dear  Ho- 
ratio, that  our  friendftpp  was  formed  at  an  age 
as  tender  ;  our  friendfhip,  which  has  never  fince 
wavered  a  fingle  moment,  and  which  would  now, 
as  in  the  firft  warmth  of  its  commencement,  lead 
us  to  unite  our  lives  and  fortunes,  and  fhare  them 

for 


THE    FICKLE     YOUTH.      27 

for  the  future  equally  and  infeparably  !  Sweet 
moments  of  our  youth  !  when  the  fame  Tene- 
ments and  inclinations  drew  our  hearts  together 
by  every  tie  that  could  bind  them.  How  fwiftly 
did  the  days  glide  away  between  our  ftudies,  and 
the  free  intercourfe  of  our  fentiments  !  Every 
pleafure,  every  pain  was  felt  by  both  in  common. 
Always  together  in  town,  together  in  the  coun- 
try ;  for  eight  years  we  felt  it  neceffary  to  o\;r 
happinefs  to  be  fo,  and  what  tears  did  our  fepa- 
ration  coft  us  !  At  this  day,  if  we  chance  to  wan- 
der to  thofe  charming  walks  by  the  fide  of  a 
pleafant  rivulet,  or  up  fome  romantic  hill,  where 
formerly,  with  a  Shakefpeare,  a  Fenelon,  or  a 
Goldfmith  in  our  hands,  we  fo  oft  enjoyed  at 
once  the  charms  of  friendship,  of  poetry,  and  of 
nature,  how  pleafing  ftill  to  find  our  mutual  fen- 
timents ever  the  fame,  and  to  repofe  in  a  firm 
confidence  that  nothing  but  death  can  extinguiih 
them  in  us. 

O  you,  my  young  readers,  who  are  witnefies 
to  this  erTufion  of  my  heart,  if  you  have  a  friend 
like  mine,  if  you  love  him,  and  are  beloved  by 
him  as  I  am,  you  will  pardon  it.  Befides,  have 
I  not  a  right  of  fpeaking  to  you  concerning  what- 
ever interefts  my  feelings  ?  Otherwife  I  mould 
have  afTumed  in  vain,  the  title  under  which  I  of- 
fer you  this  work.  Whatever  afTecls  either  you 
or  me,  can  never  henceforward  be  indifferent  to 
the  other  party.  We  are  united  by  ties  that  can 
never  be  broken  on  either  fide,  without  a  grofs 
want  of  gratitude.  If  the  care  which  I  take  in 
forming  your  hearts  and  understandings  have  any 
value  in  your  eyes,  I  on  my  fide  owe  you  my 
C  2  warmeft 


2S      THE    FICKLE     YOUTH. 

warmeft  acknowledgments.  Thanks  to  you,  all 
nature  looks  gay  and  fmiling  round  me  ;  for  my 
fancy  places  me  in  the  midft  of  your  pleafmg 
countenances,  on  which  innocence,  chearfulnefs 
and  candor,  are  painted  fo  expreiT:vely.  It  is 
from  your  own  mouths  that  I  catch  thofe  artlefs 
Tallies  which  make  ycu  fmile,  and  thofe  fenti- 
ments  of  tender  nth  and  generofity  that  caufe 
your  tears  to  flow,  or  imprefs  your  young  breafts 
with  an  early  fenfe  of  honor.  Would  I  could 
prefent  you  to  my  country,  accomplished  objects 
of  her  vvarmeft  lopes  ! 

As  joys  the  thoughtful  bufbandman  to  view 
His  fields  array'd  in  Autumn's  golden  hue, 
Or  th*  green  foreft  in  luxuriant  youth, 
Riling  by  flow  advance  to  ample  growth  ; 
So  with  glad  hope  the  philofophic  mind 
Looks  10  the  noble  fpring  or  human  kind, 
Sees  the  fair  crop  in  thriving  verdure  rife, 
By  happy  foil  fuftain'd  and  fav'ring  fkies. 
And  if  the  bright  example  of  a  throne, 
Could  like  the  Fun  improve  where'er  it  (hone, 
Well  might  the  penfwe  fpecuhft  preface 
The  rip'ning  promife  of  a  virtuous  age. 
From  folly's  mildew,  and  the  blights  impure 
Of  pamper'd  vice  and  luxury  fecure. 

We  have  read  of  wicked  men  in  the  accounts 
of  former  times,  and  even  of  the  prefent ;  let 
us  hope  that  the  riling  age  will  afford  few  inftan- 
ces  of  fueh.  Thofe  wicked  men  had  no 
FRIEND  to  conduct  them  to  virtue,  by  the 
paths  of  pleafure  j  you  have  one  who  makes  this 

duty 


FLATTERY.  29 

duty  the  whole  happinefs  of  his  life.  Forget 
him  not,  therefore,  but  if  you  would  honor  him 
to  the  extent  of  his  w  fh,  let  your  remembrance 
of  him  live  in  your  virtues. 


F     L     A     T     T     E     R     % 

Lady  Downright^  Matilda  her  Daughter* 

Mat.  /~\  DEAR  mama,  kifs  me  for  the  good 
V_x    news  that  I  have  to  tell  you. 

Lady  D.     What  is  it,  my  dear  ? 

Mat,  I  am  juft  going  to  introduce  to  you  the 
fnoft  agreeable  acquaintance  in  the  world,  Mifs 
SachanrTa  Bland,  a  fweet  girl  :  (he  is  to  be  here 
prefently. 

Lady  D.  Here  ?  I  imagined  that  to  vifit  in 
this  houfe,  the  perfon  mould  be  firft  introduced 
to  me. 

Mat.  Very  true,  mama,  but  I  was  fo  fure  of 
your  liking  her  company,  that  I  thought  it  no 
harm  to  difpenfe  with  ceremony  for  this  time. 

Lady  D.  Do  you  give  the  name  of  ceremony 
to  your  duty  ?  This  (hews  you  as  heedlefs  as  u- 
fual  :  but  the  young  Lady's  behaviour  does  not 
mew  that  referve  or  difcretion  that  I  could  wifh 
in  the  perfon  whom  you  defire  to  make  your 
friend.  I  think,  me  fhould  have  waited  for  my 
invitation. 

C  3  Mat\ 


30  FLATTERY, 

Mat.     Why,  (he  was  fo  impatient  to  pay  j 
her  refpe&s — You  cannot  think  how  highly  flic 
fpeaks  of  you. 

Lady  D.  How  can  (lie  know  me  ?  I  never 
faw  her  but  once,  and  then  by  chance  at  a  third 
perfon's. 

Mat.  Well,  that  interview  was  enough  to 
form  her  opinion  of  you.  She  has  drawn  fo  fa- 
vorable a  picture  of  your  good  qualities,  that  I 
ihall  be  always  proud  of  having  fuch  a  mother. 

Lady  D,  And  no  doubt,  too,  her  fkilful  hand 
has  drawn  a  fair  portrait  of  your  accomplish- 
ments. 

Mat*  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  you  can- 
not imagine  how  many  happy  qualities  (he  dil- 
covered  in  me — more  than  I  myfelf  was  aware 
of. 

Lady  D,  But  which  you  are  now  clearly  con- 
vinced belong  to  you. 

Mat.     Yes,  it  is  fo  plain  J  fo  finking  ! 
Lady  D.     1  (hall  be  apt  to  fear  that  fhe  did 
not  reckon  diffidence  among  the  number  of  your 
happy  qualities. 

Mat.  Perhaps  you  are  joking,  and  yet  (lie 
was  almoft  tempted  to  chide  me  for  having  too 
much.  However,  me  agreed  at  the  laft,  that  dif- 
fidence was  more  neceifary  to  me  than  another, 
to  difarm  the  envy  of  fuch  as  do  not  poffefs  e- 
quai  accomplishments. 

Lady  D.  Really  I  wifh  you  joy  of  thefe  fine 
difjoveries. 

Why  mama  (he  was  fo  juft  in  her  pa- 
negyric upon  you,  that  I  am  the  more  apt  to  give 

.her 


FLATTERY,  31 

her  credit  with  regard  to  myfelf  I  Oh  !  (he  is  a 
fweet  girl ! 

Lady  D.  I  don't  wonder  that  you  are  To  much 
taken  with  her. 

Mat.  How  can  one  help  loving  her  ?  She  is 
of  fo  amiable  a  temper,  you  never  hear  a  word 
from  her  lips  but  is  perfectly  obliging. 

Lady  D,  Have  you  been  often  in  her  com- 
pany ? 

Mat.  Only  twice,  with  the  Mifs  Delmores, 
at  then*  houfe.  She  has  a  great  deal  of  friend- 
ship for  them,  but  they  do  not  feem  fufficient'ly 
to  return  it.  Do  you  think  that  the  Mifs  Del- 
mores  pofTefs  much  penetration  ?  I  have  vifited 
them  thefe  four  years,  and  in  that  time  they  have 
not  been  able  to  know  meas  perfectly  as  Mifs 
Bland  in  three  days. 

Lady  D.     What  makes  you  imagine  fo  ? 
Mat.      Becaufe   they  have  fometimes   taken 
upon  them  to  find  little  defe&s  in  me,   which., 
however,  I  flatter  myfelf  do  not  belong  to  me. 
I  mould  fuppofe  them  to  be  fomething  envious. 

Lady  D.  It  happens  pretty  often  that  /-take 
the  fame  liberties  with  you.  Do  you  imagine 
me  a-lfo  to  be  jealous  of  your  merit  ? 

Mat.  Oh  !  that  is  quite  different.  You  on- 
ly fpeak  to  me  out  of  friendmip,  and  for  my 
good  ;  But — 

Lady  D.  Why  cannot  you  fuppofe  your 
friends  to  have  the  fame  motive  ?  Without  be- 
ing fo  ftrongly  interefted  in  your  improvement  as 
your  own  family,  may  they  not  wifh  it  neverthc- 
lefs  very  affectionately,  in  order  that  you  may  be 
more  worthy  a  continuance  of  that  intimacy 

which 


32  FLATTERY. 

which  has  fubfiited  between  you  from  your  child- 
hood ?  Befides,  I  know  them  fufficiently  to  be 
convinced,  that  in  their  remarks  and  advice  to 
you,  they  have  always  preferved  the  discretion  of 
friendship. 

Mat.     But  then  they  chid  me  for  fuch  trifles. 

Lady  D.  Your  felf-love  is  ingenious  enough 
to  impeach  their  delicacy  ;  however,  I  fee  for  my 
part,  Stronger  reafon  from  their  behaviour,  for 
your  valuing  their  attachment,  I  am  perfuaded 
that  nobody jn  the  world,  next  to  your  relations? 
can  be  more  worthy  of  a  distinguished  place  in 
your  friendfhip. 

Mat.  Oh  !  I  am  fure  Mifs  Bland  has  already 
as  much  friendship  for  me  as  they  have.  But  I 
hear  fomebody  coming  up  flairs.  It  is  (he  !  It  is 
me!  How  happy  I  am  !  Now  you  will  fee  her. 

Mifs  Bland,  (approaching  Lady  Downright  with 
an  ajjumedair  of  refpeEi,)  Your  ladyfhip  will  par- 
don my  taking  the  liberty  of  introducing  myfelf 
thus  abruptly  ;  but  in  all  companies  i  have  heard 
your  eStimable  qualities  mentioned  fo  handfome- 
ly,  that  I  could  not  refift  the  defire  I  felt  of 
paying  you  the  tribute  of  my  refpects.  I  am  no 
longer  furprifed  that  Mifs  Downright  is  already 
poiTeir,  of  fuch  fplendid  accomplishments. 

Mat.   {whifpering  her  mother. )   There,  mama  ? 

Lady  D.  Mifs,  your  compliment  is  very  pret- 
ty. It  would  have  come  indeed  with  more  weight 
from  a  perfon  better  qualified  by  age  or  intima- 
cy, to  form  an  opinion  of  us  ;  efpecially  if  She 
had  had  the  delicacy  to  exprefs  it  in  any  other 
manner  than  bluntly  to  our  faces. 

Mifs 


FLATTERY^  33 

Mifs  Bland,  (a  little  difconcerted.)  Who  can 
fupprefs  the  fentiments  which  you  infpire  even  at 
firft  fight  ?  Ah  !  had  I  fo  amiable  a  mother  ! 

Lady  D,  Do  you  think,  mifs,  that  this  wifh 
terrifies  much  refpecl:  to  your  mother  ? 

Mifs  Bland.  Pardon  me,  madam,  I  cannot 
tell  how  to  exprefs  my  admiration  of  your  cha- 
racter. Look  where  1  will,  I  find  none  that  can 
be  compared  with  your  ladyfhip  :  and,  as  to  Mifs 
Downright,  what  young  lady  of  her  age  can  dif- 
pute  the  palm  with  her  for  wit,  grace,  or  accom- 
plishments !  I  am  not  apt  to  be  blindly  partial 
even  to  thofe  that  I  efteem  ;  for  inftance,  I  have 
the  greateft  friendfhip  for  the  Mifs  De!mores> 
and  wifh  to  (hut  my  eves  to  all  their  faults,  but 
how  awkward,  friff,  and  inanimate  they  are  when, 
compared  to  your  daughter  ! 

Lady  Z>.  You  certainty  forget  that  they  are 
her  friends,  and  that  this  deicrip^lQn  cf  them 
cannot  be  agreeable  to  us,  particularly  as  they  by 
no  means  deferve  it,  Befides,  I  hear  that  you 
have  a  thoufand  times  complimented  them  on 
their  agreeable  qualities,  and  that  in  the  mo& 
pompous  ftyle. 

Mat,  Indeed  fo  The  has,  mama  ;  this  change 
iurpnzes  me  It  is  no  longer  ago  than  yefkr- 
day,   that  fiiQ  faid  all  manner  of  fine  things  to 

Lady  ZX  I  fee,  that  is  no  reafon  why  the  la- 
dy mould  treat  them  as  favorably  behind  their 
backs. 

■  Mifs  Bland.  One  does  not  like  to  mention 
difagreeable  truths.  For  my  part,  I  tell  none 
their  faults  except  my  real  friends. 

Lady 


34  FLATTERY. 

Lady  D.  1  do  not  know  whether  my  daugh- 
ter fhould  think  very  highly  of  that  diftinclion  ; 
but  1  fhould  be  much  a*raid,  were  I  in  her  place, 
of  becoming  the  fubject  of  the  fame  fort  of  con- 
fidence with  fome  other  of  your  real  friends  ;  for, 
I  fuppofe,  you  have  a  good  many  of  that  defcrip- 
lion. 

Mifs  Bland.  Blefs  me  !  what  an  opinion  your 
ladyfhip  entertains  of  me  !  I  have  too  fincere  a 
love  for  Mifs  Downright. 

Lady  D.  Well,  ma'am,  as  you  are  fo  fincere, 
I  muft  be  alfo  fincere  with  you  on  my  fide ;  and 
afiurc  you,  that  as  I  did  not,  nay,  could  not  ex- 
peel  this  vifit,  I  had  fet  apart  this  evening  for  the 
purpofe  of  converting  with  my  daughter,  on  fe- 
veral  important  points  of  education.  I  fee  every 
reafon  not  to  rielay  a  moment  longer  what  I  have 
to  fay  to  her,  concerning  the  danger  of  filly  cre- 
dulity, as  well  as  the  meannefs  of  fervile  flattery, 
and  I  lhoulu  fear  that  fuch  topics  might  not  be 
agreeable  to  you.  When  my  daughter  and  I 
(hall  be  fo  near  perfection  as  you  are  pleafed  to 
fuppofe,  we  will  then  receive  your  compliments 
without  fcruple.  I  (hall  give  you  notice,  ma'am, 
when  that  period  arrives  j  and,  in  the  mean  time, 
your  mofl  obedient.  . 

Mifs  Bland,  {retiring  In  confufion.)  Your  lady- 
fhip"'s  humble  fervant. 

Mat.  Oh  !  mama,  what  a  reception  you  have 
given  her  ! 

Lady  D.  Should  I  keep  any  meafures  with  a 
perfon  who  comes  to  infult  us  in  our  own  houfe  ? 

Mat*     Infult  us,  mama  ? 

Ladf 


F     L     A     T     T     £     R     Y.  35 

Lady  D.  Is  it  not  an  infult  to  put  a  cheat  up- 
on us  ?  And  is  it  not  putting  a  grofs  cheat  on  us, 
to  load  us  with  compliments  and  praifes  the  mcft 
falfe  and  ridiculous  poffibie  ?  Do  you  think  that 
me  really  takes  you  tor  a  prodigy  of  graces  and 
accomplishments,  as  me  did  not  blufh  to  call  you 
to  your  face  ?  Did  not  me  fpeak  in  the  fame  ftyle 
to  the  Mifs  Deimores,  and  have  not  you  heard 
how  me  treated  them  ?  Did  you  not  mark  with 
what  unnatural  adulation  me  would  have  com- 
plimented me  at  the  expence  of  her  own  mother  ? 
I  do  not  know  how  I  refrained  from  treating  fuch 
an  inftance  of  meannefs  with  all  the  contempt 
and  indignation  that  it  merited. 

Mat.     A  (hocking  character  indeed  ! 

Lady  D.  It  is  the  character  of  all  batterers 
who  dare  to  aim  at  governing  others,  while  their 
littlenefs  and  fervility  fink  them  to  the  lowed 
rank  of  the  human  fpecies. 

Mat.  How  ?  Do  you  think  that  Mifs  Bland 
would  have  aimed  at  governing  me  ? 

Lady  D.  Your  inexperience  hindered  you 
from  feeing  through  her  artifices,  coarfe  as  they 
were.  But  while  ihe  infinuated  herfelf  into  your 
favor,  by  praifing  you  at  the  expenfe  of  truth, 
what  were  her  views  ?  To  gain  an  afcendant  over 
your  underftariding,  by  reducing  you  at  length 
to  the  habitual  necemty  of  being  flattered.  That 
Ihe  might  rule  you  with  more  abfolute  domini- 
on, did  fhe  not  endeavour  to  alienate  your  friend- 
ship from  two  amiable  young  ladies,  by  ridicul- 
ing them,  or  by  hinting  them  to  be  fecretly  envi- 
ous of  thefe  imaginary  perfections  that  me  af- 
cribed  to  you  ?  Had  ihe  Succeeded  in  thus  intox- 
icating 


36  FLATTERY. 

icating  your  mind,  who  knows  if  (lie  would  not 
have  attempted  to  fap  the  foundation  of  all  your 
duties,  by  reprefenting  my  advice  to  you  as  harfh- 
nefs  and  reproach,  the  anxiety  of  my  affection 
for  you,  as  a  fplenetick  humour,  and  my  autho- 
rity as  tyranny.  What  would  have  then  become 
of  you,  abandoned  by  your  friends  and  your  pa- 
rents ? 

Mai.    (throwing  herfelf  into  her  mother's  arms. ) 

0  my  deareft  mama,  1  fee  it  clearly,  without  you 

1  fhould  have  been  loft.  From  what  a  danger- 
ous acquaintance  have  you  faved  me  ! 

Lady  D.  (embracing  her  tenderly*)  Yes,  my 
dear,  we  are  now  re-united  for  ever.  I  perceiv- 
ed your  furprize  at  feeing  me  treat  Mifs  Bland 
with  lb  much  freedom  and  feeming  incivility,  but 
you  know  that  all  my  happinefs  is  centered  in 
you  ;  judge  then  of  my  feelings,  when  I  faw  it  fo 
near  being  embittered  by  her  feducingarts.  You 
have  as  yet  no  idea  of  the  unhappy  condition  of 
a  woman  who  is  early  fpoiled  by  flattery.  Com- 
ing into  the  world  with  pretenfions  that  nothing 
canjuftify,  and  an  opinion  of  her  own  merit, 
in  which  nobody  elfe  joins  her,  what  mortifica- 
tions mult  (he  experience !  As  to  the  homage 
that  ihe  expected,  the  more  her  pride  exacts  it, 
the  more  me  finds  it  withheld,  and  the  fneer  of 
contempt  fupply  its  place.  If,  blinded  as  ihe  is 
with  felf-opinion,  a  tranfient  ray  of  reflexion 
fhould  enlighten  her  for  a  moment,  and  fhew  her 
the  true  Mate  of  herfelf,  what  fhame  rnuft  me 
feel  on  finding  herfelf  deftitute  of  a  claim  to 
thofe  qualities  which  fhe  imagined  herfelf  to 
poflds,  and  what  regret  at  having  loft  the  oppor- 
tunities 


FLATTERY.  37 

tunlties  of  acquiring  them  !  On  what  fhould  (he, 
for  the  future,  found  her  pretenfions  to  public 
efteem,  to  the  love  of  her  hufband,  or  the  refpect 
of  her  family  ?  To  ftifle  the  reproaches  of  her 
mind,  as  well  as  the  troublefome  confcioufnefs  of 
her  own  want  of  merit,  (he  can  fuffer  none  a- 
bout  her,  but  defpicable  flatterers  of  the  fame 
(lamp  with  thofe  who  firft  corrupted  her  under- 
standing ;  and,  to  crown  her  difgrace,  while  (he 
contemns  them,  (lie  feels  herfelf  worthy  of  their 
contempt.  Irritated  by  all  thefe  mortifications. 
(he  is  (till  further  tortured  at  the  fight  of  defert 
in  another,  even  in  her  own  children.  If  (he 
diftinguifhes  any  by  her  regard,  it  is  thofe  whom 
(lie  has  tutored  to  a  fervile  compliance  with  her 
folly  ;  and  thus  (lie  is  condemned  to  the  crime 
of  corrupting  their  veracity,  in  order  to  make 
them  worthy  objects  of  her  affection. 

Mat.  Dear  madam,  turn  away  this  picture  ; 
it  fills  me  with  horror. 

Lady  D.  Well  then,  in  order  to  tzit  your  im- 
agination upon  more  agreeable  objects,  picture  to 
yourfelf  a  young  woman  adorned  with  that  mo- 
defty  which  is  fo  graceful,  and  with  that  diffi- 
dence in  her  powers  of  pleafing,  which  gives 
them  their  higher!  charm.  Even  the  flatterers 
refpect  her^  even  the  envious  receive  her  with  a 
fmiie.  By  modedly  yielding  to  her  rivals  all 
that  they  afTume,  (he  takes  the  fureft  way  to  gain 
a  fuperiority  over  them.  She  feems  to  appear 
every  day  with  a  conftant  addition  of  good  qual- 
ities, as  the  efteem  which  (lie  infpires  puts  Deople 
upon  finding  new  graces  in  her  character.  •  Af- 
filed by  the  advice  of  her  friends,  which  her 
D  diffidence 


38  FLATTER     V. 

diffidence  induces  her  to  accept,  flie  is  beloved 
by  them  as  the  creature  of  their  good  wiihes. 
The  homage  addrefled  to  her  from  all  quarters, 
enhances  her  value  in  the  eyes  of  her  hufband, 
who  therefore  itudies  to  become  more  worthy  of 
her  affection  by  his  conftancy  and  attention.  Her 
children,  nourilhed  by  her  virtues,  look  up  to  no 
other  pattern,  and  indeed  the  experience  of  her 
own  fuccefs,  will  make  her  the  more  proper  to 
direct  their  education.  She  will  be  able  to  qual- 
ify them  for  the  happinefs  which  ihe  herfelf  en- 
joys. More  and  more  pleafed  every  day  with 
herfelf,  and  with  every  thing  that  is  round  her, 
ihe  will  be  happy  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  fecure 
to  herfelf,  in  a  more  advanced  age,  the  grateful 
eiteem  of  her  acquaintance,  whofe  attachment 
her  merit  will  have  rendered  both  zealous  and 
iincere. 

Mat,  Dear  madam,  make  me  that  happy  wo- 
man. Henceforth  I  ihall  diftruft  the  moft  dex- 
terous flattery  ;  and  if  ever  my  felf-love  becomes 
blind,  I  will  look  up  to  your  prudence  and  af- 
fection to  enlighten  it. 


WHIMSICAL 


WHIMSICAL   ANSWER,    £&.        39 


*  WHIMSICAL  ANSWER  to  an  ITALIAN 
'       LETTER,  from  Miss ~.       , 

LA  voftra  letters,  mia  cara  Carolinetta,  arri- 
vata  dalla  gioiofa  Francia  nella  penfofa  Ing- 
hilterra,  m'ha  procurata  una  grandiffima  gioia 
colla  ricordanza  della  voftra  amicizia  ; 

E  anche,  perche  fcrivete  come  Cicerone  che 
fcrifle  delle  ingegnofe  lettere,  benche,  comparate 
alle  voftre,  farebbe  poftibile  cb'arrofliiTe  l'oratore 
celebre  delle  difFerenze. 

Tutti  gli  fcritti  di  giovani  fpiriti  pieni  di  kn- 
timenti  puri,  di  gen.tili  penfieri  hanmi  nei  tempi 
tuiti  recati  gratimmi  piaceri. 

Ho  provato  erandiffirho  gufto  vedendo  voftro 
progreffo  dovuto  alio  braviflimo  voftro  maeftro. 
Sono,  faro,  vivendo,  morendo,  morto,  umilimmo 
voftro  fervo,  divotifTimo  voftro  amico, 

Turlututu 

A,  E.I.  O.U. 

D2 


*  The  author,  Mr.  Berquin,  had  afferted  in  conver- 
fation,  that  it  was  poflible  to  write  a  whole  page  in  1- 
talian,  every  ientence  of  which  mould  confift  of  words 
ending  with  the  fame  letter.  As  a  proof  that  this  wa| 
not  fo  difficult  as  fome  thought  it,  he  produced  the  a- 
bove,  in  which  he  has  beiides  followed  the  order  of  the 
vowels.  The  whole  being  no  more  than  a  play  upon 
letters,  which  may  atnufe  thofe  who  are  corverfant  in 
the  Italian  language*  a  tranflation  has  been  thought  rtn- 
Becefiary, 


4o      THE  CAVERN  IN  THE  PEAK. 


The    CAVERN    in    the    PEAK, 
Defcribed  in  the  relation  of  a  Traveller. 

I  HAD  left  London  behind  me  a  hundred  and 
feventy  miles,  and  had  croifed  feveral  moun- 
tains and  valiies,  when  at  length  I  faw  myfelf 
near  the  end  of  my  journey,  being  arrived  in  the 
wilds  of  Derbyfhire. 

The  mountains  which  I  had  now  to  climb 
grew  more  fteep  and  difficult  ;  and  behind  them 
I  defcried  others  itill  higher,  that  were  totally 
bare  of  trees,  anfl  prefented  a  furface  of  heath  and 
greenfward,  fo  that  at  a  pretty  good  diftance  I 
could  diitinguifh  the  flocks  feeding  upon  their 
fides, 

When  I  had  reached  the  top  of  one  of  thefe 
mountains,  I  was  all  at  once  furprized  with  the 
fight  of  a  delightful  vallty  below  me,  interfered 
with  rivulets,  and  furrounded  on  all  fides  with 
iofty  hills.  At  the  bottom  of  this  valley  is  foli- 
ated the  village  of  Caftletown,  confiding  of  a 
few  indifferent  cottages,  that  feem  to  announce 
the  poverty  of  their  inhabitants. 

A  narrow  road  winding  down  the  declivity  of 
the  mountain,  conducted  me  to  the  bottom  of 
the  valley,  and  fo  into  the  village,  where  having 
(topped  a  moment  at  an  inn  to  refrefh  myfelf,  I 
took,  the  road  towards  the  Cavern  of  the  Peak, 

being 


THE  CAVERN  IN  THE  PEAK.      4r 

being  guided  to  its  entrance  by  a  final  1  ilream 
that  runs  near  it,  after  having  pafTed  through  the 
town. 

I  (lopped  now  and  then  in  order  to  indulge 
my  eyes  with  a  more  leifurely  view  of  the  lingu- 
lar object  before  me.  Between  two  groves  of 
the  fineft  verdure,  an  enormous  rock,  crowned 
with  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  caftle,  reared  its  top 
to  the  very  clouds.  At  the  foot  of  thus  opened 
a  vail  Cavern,  which,  when  viewed  from  with- 
out, while  the  beholder  enjoys  the  light  of  noon- 
day, prefents  to  his  eyes  a  huge  abyfs  of  dark- 
nefs. 

A  man  foon  appeared  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Cave,  who  afked  me  if  1  chofe  to  go  down.  I 
followed  him  down  an  eafy  defcent,  the  day- 
light, which  came  in  at  the  entrance,  gradually 
lofing  itfelf  in  a  fort  of  darknefs  vifible,  fomething 
like  the  faint  twilight  of  a  November  evening. 

After  we  had  advanced  a  few  fleps,  I  was  much 
furprized  to  fee  on  my  right  hand,  a  fubterrane- 
ous  town  under  the  immenfe  vault  of  the  rock. 
It  happened  to  be  a  holiday,  aud  the  inhabitants 
were  enjoying  a  relaxation  from  their  labors, 
moll  of  them  fitting  with  their  children  before 
the  doors  of  their  cottages,  and  amufing  them- 
felves'  I  gueffed  the  nature  of  their  ulual  em- 
ployment to  be  fpinning,  from  the  number  of 
large  wheels  that  were  every  where  to  befeen. 

As  we  went  farther  in,  the  opening  which  full 
admitted  the  feeble  light  of  day,  feemed  to  nar- 
row more  and  more,  and  foon   appeared   like  a 
large  hole  in  th^  rock,  while  the  rays  of  light, 
D  3  faint 


42      THE  CAVERN  IN  THE  PEAK. 

faint  as  they  were,  gave  a  tinge  to  the  fmokethat 
rofe  from  thofe  fub terraneous  cottages  which  we 
had  left  behind.  The  gloom,  however,  thick- 
ened every  Rep,  till  at  length  the  vault  of  the 
rock,  and  the  darknefs,  both  together,  feemed  to 
cnclofe  all  round. 

My  guide,  who  was  before  me,  then  opened 
the  door  ex  a  fmall  cabin  cut  in  the  hollow  o£ 
the  rock,  and  an  old  woman,  who  lived  in  it* 
came  out  and  furnished  us  with  lights.  Each  of 
us  look  one,  and  we  continued  our  march,  be- 
ing obliged  however  to  ftoop  very  low  for  a  con- 
siderable length  of  way.  But  what  was  my  af- 
tonifhment  when,  at  the  end  of  this  clofe  paf- 
fage,  I  faw  the  Cavern  widen  round  me  all  at 
once,  and  the  vault  rife  to  a  height  which  we 
could  not  diftinguifh  by  the  help  of  our  lights* 
I  paiTed  in  filence  through  the  extent  of  this  ca- 
vity, like  a  benighted  traveller  that  has  loft  his 
way,  and  arrived  at  length  on  the  fide  of  a  pret- 
ty broad  rtream,  whofe  filent  waters,  when  our 
candles  approached  their  furface,  threw  all  round 
us  a  pale  reflexion  of  light,  that  was  ftill  more 
full  of  horror  than  the  darknefs.  A  fmall  boat 
was  made  fart  to  the  bank,  and  my  guide,  bid- 
ding me  enter  it,  jumped  into  the  water  up  to  his 
middle,  and  taking  the  rope  of  the  boat  over  his 
moulders,  began  to  drag  it  after  him. 

The  ftill  horror  of  this  place  refembled  thefi- 

lehce  of  the  grave.      As   I  advanced  I   faw  the 

roof  of  the  rock  become  gradually  l©wer,  like  a 

dark  cloud  defcer.ding  towards  the  earth.      My 

le  cried  out  to  me  to  lie  down  on  my  back  ; 

d  icarccly  been  a  moment  in  that  pofture, 

when 


THE  CAVERN  IN  THE  PEAK.      43 

when  I  found  myfelf  under  a  part  of  the  vault  fo 
low,  that  flretched  as  I  was  at  full  length  in  the 
boat,  I  could  fcarcely  hold  the  candle  upright  by 
my  fide.  While  I  was  thus  buried  as  it  were,  £ 
confefs  the  ftories  of  the  river  Styx,  and  of  Cha- 
ron's ferry-boat,  began  to  appear  not  quite  fo  fa- 
bulous. I  teemed  as  in  a  dream,  going  to  land 
in  the  gloomy  regions  of  Erebus,  condemned  by 
an  unufual  deftiny  to  carry  my  own  funeral  torch. 
Fortunately  this  dreary  vifion  did  not  laft  long, 
we  foon  croffed  the  (freights,  and  I  landed  alive 
and  well  on  the  oppofite  fide. 

The  vault  over  our  heads  preferred  us  once 
more  in  our  walk  with  the  fame  irregular  fur-face, 
fometimes  rifing  to  a  prodigious  height,  and 
fometimes  finking  all  at  once  as  if  to  flop  up  our 
way.  I  perceived  all  round  me  a  number  of 
plants  and  fmall  animals  petrified,  and  would 
willingly  have  examined  them,  but  I  was  obliged 
to  decline  the  gratification  of  my  curiofity,  for 
fear  of  burning  out  our  candles, 

A  fecond  piece  of  water  appearing  before  us,  I 
imagined  that  we  were  now  arrived  at  the  end  of 
our  journey,  as  I  faw  no  boat.  This  ftream  was 
not  fo  broad  as  the  former  ;  we  could  eafily  dif- 
tinguifh  the  oppofite  fide.  My  conductor  took 
me  upon  his  backhand  carried  me  fafe  over. 

A  little  farther  we  found  a  fmall  current  which 
ran  parallel  with  our  path,  Our  ground  here 
became  moift  and  flippery,  and  our  path  fo  nar- 
row that  we  could  hardly  get  one  foot  before  the 
other.  Yet,  notwithrtanding  thefe  and  fuch 
difagreeable  obfiacles,  I  followed  with  pleafure 
the  ccurfe  o(  the  fubterraneous  water.     Every 

obje:t 


44      THE  CAVERN  IN  THE'  PEAK. 

objecl  that  I  could  difcover,  in  this  empire  of 
darknefs,  appeared  to  me  to  carry  with  it  fome- 
thing  of  the  marvellous.  My  mind  was  loft  in 
a  chaos  of  agreeable  mufings,  when  fuddenly  a 
murmur  of  diftant  harmony  (truck  my  ear. 

I  flopped  my  guide,  and  afked  him  whence 
thefe  founds  proceeded,  which  my  fancy  (already 
in  a  romantic  mood)  rcprefented  to  me  fo  delight- 
ful ?  He  anfwered  me  that  I  would  foon  fatisfy 
myfelf.  Each  ftep  that  I  advanced,  this  mur- 
mur, which  at  a  diftance  was  indiftincT:  and  con- 
fufed,  grew  more  articulate.  I  prefently  diftin- 
guifhed  a  fort  of  pattering  noife,  like  that  made 
by  drops  of  rain,  It  was  no  more  than  a  fmal! 
water-fali,  the  ftream  of  which  feparating  as  it 
fell,  came  down  in  a  thick  Ihower  ;  and  the  noife 
of  this,  prolonged  from  echo  to  echo,  through 
the  filent  vault,  formed,  by  its  mingled  and  gra- 
dual reverberation,  a  fucceflion  of  founds  full  of 
harmony.  I  could  already  fee  thefe, drops  fpar- 
kle  like  diamonds  at  the  approach  of  our  candles, 
but  I  did  not  dare  to  go  too  near  them,  for  fear 
of  feeing  our  candles  go  out,  and  of  being  redu- 
ced to  grope  our  way  Ixvck  in  the  dark,  perhaps 
unfuccefsfully. 

In  the  fides  of  the  rock,  at  different  places,  I 
obferved  large  openings,  which  led  probably  to 
other  caverns.  I  barely  peeped  into  them,  and 
was  forry  that  my  time  would  not  permit  me  to 
explore  them  thoroughly.  My  guide,  in  order 
to  give  me  an  agreeable  furprize,  bid  me  fhut  my 
eyes,  and  fuffer  him  to  lead  me,  I  gave  him  my 
candle,  and  holding  him  by  the  coat,  followed 
him  blindfold.     He  flopped  fhort,  and  when  I 

opened 


THE  CAVERN  IN  THE  PEAK.      45 

Opened  my  eyes,  I  found  rnyfelf  in  an  auguft" 
temple,  the  dome  of  which,  irregularly  fufpended 
upon  enormous  pillars,  poffeiTed  all  that  awful 
beauty  and  magnificence,  which  is  feeh  in  the 
great  works  of  nature.  1  could  not  help  falling 
■on  my  knees  to  adore  the  majefty  of  the  Almigh- 
ty, who  feemed  to  have  formed  even  this  fubter- 
raneous  fpot,  as  a  temple  where  he  might  be  fit- 
Jy  worfhipped. 

I  quitted  this  contemplation  with  reluctance, 
m  order  to  continue  our  expedition,  which  was 
now  drawing  to  a  period.  The  faithful  ftream, 
conducted  us  to  the  extremity  of  the  Cavern, 
where  the  rock  bends  down  for  the  laR.  time.  Its 
arch  defcends  t-o  the  very  waters,  where  it  unites 
with  them,  and  clofes  up  the  pafTagefo  complete- 
ly, that  the  moft  adventurous  traveller  cannot 
pafs  the  bounds  which  are  here  fet  to  his  curio* 
fity. 

We  now  therefore  turned  back,  and  as  I  im- 
agined, were  to  come  out  by  the  fame  path  by 
which  we  had  penetrated  thus  far;  but  I  very 
foon  faw  my  guide  turn  off  to  the  left,  by  one  of 
the  lateral  openings  of  the  rock.  He  gave  me 
notice  that  I  mould  find  rnyfelf  much  fatigued  in 
this  new  expedition,  and  muft  be  fatisrled  to 
creep  for  fome  length  under  a  part  of  the  rock 
which  nearly  touches  the  ground.  As  he  found 
me  refoived  to  follow  him,  he  advifed  me  to  take 
good  care  of  my  candle. 

We  were  obliged  to  creep  <>n  our  hands  and  • 
feet  for  a   pretty  long  time,  tfjion  a  moift  fand, 
the  paiTage  being  fometimes  fo  ftreight,  that  we 
could  hardly  fqueeze  our  bodies  through,  When 

I 


46      THE  CAVERN  IN  THE  PEAK. 

I  rofe  from  this  painful  pofture,  I  faw  a  fteep  hill 
full  before  me,  the  top  of  which  feemed  to  lofe 
itfelf  like  a  cloud,  among  the  hardly  diftinguilh- 
able  extremities  of  the  furrounding  rock.  The 
afcent  was  fo  fteep  from  its  moiituie,  that  I  fell 
back  at  every  ftep.  My  guide,  more  aclive  at 
this  exercife,  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  at  length 
fucceeded  in  helping  me  to  the  top.  I  fhudder- 
ed  at  fight  of  the  depths  which  furrounded  me 
on  all  fides.  He  bid  me  fit  down,  and  requefted 
me  to  wait  for  his  return.  Leaving  me  there- 
fore in  this  folitude,  he  descended  the  hill  pretty 
rapidly,  and  was  foon  loft  to  my  view.  All  at 
once  I  faw  re-appear,not  him,  but  his  light, which 
fhone  like  a  (park  in  an  abyfs  of  darknefs. 

After  fuffering  me  to  enjoy  this  fpec"tacle  for  a 
moment,  my  guide  returned  :  I  went  down  with 
him  to  the  fame  depth  where  I  had  before  loft 
fight  of  him.  He  now  realcended  the  hill,  and 
through  an  opening  in  the  rock,  he  gave  me  a 
view  of  his  candle,  while  I  removed  mine.  It 
was  to  me  as  if,  in  the  darkeft  night,  I  faw  a  An- 
gle ftar  twinkle  in  the  narrow  fpace  between  two 
dark  clouds. 

This  part  not  offering  any  frefri  objects  to 
gratify  my  curiofity,  we  re-entered  our  former 
creeping  paflage,  in  order  to  arrive  once  more  on 
the  bank  of  the  fmall  ftream  which  now  conduct- 
ed us  back.  I  beheld  the  wild  temple  again  with 
the  fame  impreflion  of  awe  ;  I  heard  with  th<j 
fame  pleafure,  t!'"  harmonious  murmur  of  the 
cafcade ;  but  [  repafled  with  lefs  terror  beneath 
the  vault  which  my  fancy  had  before  compared 

to 


.ODE  on  DOMESTIC  HAPPINESS.    47 

to  a  tomb.  I  confidered  myfelf  as  Thefeus  re- 
turning victorious  from  his  expedition  to  Hell  : 
and  how  great  was  my  joy,  when,  after  the  vener- 
able Sibyl  had  extinguilhed  the  remainder  of  our 
candles,  which  we  returned  to  her,  I  at  length 
-dilcovered  the  feeble  gleam  of  day  !  How  I  blef- 
fed  it,  after  fo  long  a  confinement  in  darknefs  I 

1  now  came  chearfully  forward  amidft  a  very 
pidurefque  diilribution  of  light  and  (hade.  At 
every  ftep  I  faw  the  veil  of  darknefs  gradually 
unfold.  As  the  opening  of  the  Cavern  enlarg- 
ed, it  gave  me  an  idea  of  Aurora,  opening  the 
fplendid  portals  of  the  dawn.  I  arrived  in  the 
light  as  in  a  new  world,  where  the  fun  now  a- 
waited  me  on  the  borders  of  the  Weft,  furround- 
ed  with  clouds  of  purple  and  gold,  to  contraft,  as 
it  were,  by  the  grandeur  of  fuch  a  fpeclacle,  the 
gloomy  objects  which  were  ftill  pictured  in  my 
memory. 


ODE 

On    DOMESTIC  HAPPINESS. 

I.  r. 

THRICE  happy  he  who  far  from  the  world's 
noife, 
From  paffions  far,  and  'heir  difcordant  found3 
His  modeft  lot  can  wifely  bound, 
To  follow  calm  Content  and  Peace's  homely 
joys  i 

Wak'd 


43    ODE  on  DOMESTIC  HAPPINESS. 

Wak'd  by  the  breath  of  early  morn, 

Alert  he  hies  and  gay, 
To  hardy  toil,  by  health  upborne, 

Or  cares  domeftic  that  employ  the  day, 
'Till  ev'ning's  welcome  hour  return, 

And  Hefper's  kindly  ray. 
For  him  the  works  of  nature  fmile, 

Th'  alternate  feafons,  as  they  roll, 

With  varied  beauties  glad  his  foul, 
And  pleafures  ever  new  life's  troubled  fcene  be- 
guile. 

I.  2. 

But  happier  far  if  thefe  delicious  cares 

A  juftly  cherifh'd  partner  (hares, 

And  love  and  honor  o'er  his  days  prefide  : 
f   O  Rofalind,  fince  firft  my  gentle  bride 

•c  I  hail'd  thee  with  the  nuptial  kifs, 

"  Of  all  polTeflions  elfe  the  fpoiler  Time 
•c  That  dims  the  grace,  or  fteals  the  prime, 

"  Hath  added  to  our  blifs. 

"  In  Pleafure's  ever  varying  round, 
"  What  genuine  happinefs  is  found, 
"  Unlefs  the  circle  vibrates  as  it  rolls, 
"  The  concord  of  united  fouls  ? 

II.  I. 

"  Ne'er  have  my  longing  eyes  a  wim  betray 'd 
«  Which  thy  affection  has  not  fondly  crown'd, 
"  Nor  e'er  my  breaft  a  pleafure  found, 

"  But  has  to  thine  alike  its  dulcet  thrill  convey'd; 

"  What 


ODE  on  DOMESTIC  HAPPINESS.    49 

u  What  grief  can  reach  me  in  thy  arms, 

u  Where  love  and  peace  refide, 
<c  Who  (hield  our  calm  retreat  from  harms, 

"  With  placid  win£,  and  promife  at  our  fide, 
"  And  round  our  couch,  in  focial  charms, 

"  For  ever  to  abide  ? 
M  7'hey  raile  in  us  the  tender  ftrife, 

a  Who  moil  (hall  pleafe,  who  moft  mall  love, 

u  And  to  fublimeft  blifs  improve 
"  The  facred  duties  of  connubial  life. 

II.  2. 

<<  Hence  glides  the  jocund  year  on  lighter  wing, 
tc  Hence  gayer  bloflbms  deck  the  fpring, 

"  Hence    golden  fummer    binds    me   richer 
"  (heaves, 

"  And  bow'rs  more  lufcious  mellow  autumn 
"  weaves ; 
"  And  when  grey  winter  hides  the  plain, 

u  What  pleafure,  while  our  offspring  gambol 
"  round 

"  The  hearth  with  crackling  billets  crown'd, 
"  To  eye  the  playful  train  ! 

"  The  vernal  fweets  of  April  fled, 

"  Let  dark  December  beat  our  fhed, 

c<  Let  drizzly  tempefts  fwell  the  brumal  tide5 
"  — 'Tis  fpring,  if  thou  art  by  my  fide. 

III.   1. 
"  And  ye,  dear  pledges  of  our  love,  in  whom 
"Ev'n  now  the  feeds  of   gen'rous  worth  I 

"  trace, 
"My  fond  prefaging  hopes  embrace 
tc  Your  riper  virtue's  meed,  the  fair  aufpicious 
"  doom  ; 

E  «  Hovf 


5o   ODE  on  DOMESTIC  HAPPINESS. 

"  How  did  your  founds  of  earlieft frame 

'y  raviuYd  ea.-s  impel, 
u  When  fweetly  firft  I  heard  you  aim 

"  in  words  to  bid  me  as  a  father  hail, 
"  And  from  each  lip  the  tender  name 

"  in  lifpmg  accents  fell  ! 
u  Become,  dear  babes,  what  we  prefage, 

K  And  as  our  wane  of  life  draws  near, 

cc  Let  your  pure  loves  and  filial  cheer 
"  Warm  the  chill  hours  of  our  declining  age. 

III.  2. 

"  When  homeward  from   the  field,    .     clofe  of 

«  day, 
"  I  meafure  flow  my  weary  way, 
€C  Forth  burfting  from  our  cot  you  hail  my  name, 
"  And  joyful  fhouts  my  wifh'd  return  proclaim  ; 

"  When  round  my  path  you  fporti\  e  throng, 
"  Each  emulous  to  fliare  my  fir  ft  en- 
"And  to  our  threfhold  fondly  preft 

"  My  ling'ring  iteps  along, 
"  What  tranfpons  in  our  bofoms  rife ! 
tc  What  tears  of  joy  bedew  our  eyes  ! 
cc  What  tend'rer  ftill,  and  ftill  fublimer  blifs, 
Ci  Tliofe  tears  to  mingle  in  a  kifs  !" 


At  early  dawn  thus  chaimted  Colinet, 
While  foftly  ftealing  on  his  fteps  behind, 

(Her  bofom  with  two  little  loves  befet) 

To  join  the  fwain  conies  forth  his  Rofalind  : 

Wak'd  by  thy  pleafing  ftrain,  I  come,  me  cries, 

With  all  thou  lov'ft  at  once  to  glad  thy  eves. 

'    Th' 


THE     PEASANT,     &c.      51 

Th'  enraptur'd  fwain,   his  arms   around  them 
flung, 

'PrefTes  all  three  to  his  delighted  breaft  ; 
Fain   would    he    fpeak,    but  joy    binds    up  h#s 
tongue — 

Reft,  happy  fwain !  in  fpeechlefs  rranfport  reft  ! 
Enjoy  a  blifs  by  all  earth's  itores  unbought! 

Virtue,  fupreme  of  bleilings  from  above. 

Ennobles  ev'n  the  weaknefTes  of  love, 
And  without  virtue  love  itfelf  were  nought. 


THE  PEASANT,    HIS    COUNTRY ■» 
BENEFACTOR,- 

MR.  Stanley,  tired  with  the  noife  and  buftle 
of  the  town,  had  purchafed  a  fmall  coun- 
try houfe,  in  which  he  promifed  to  himfelf  the  en- 
joyment of  rural  tranquillity,  amiclft  the  ftudy 
of  books  and  the  exercife  of  benevolence.  Being 
naturally  of  a  penfive  turn,  he  wis  fond  of  foii- 
tude  and  the  amufement  of  walking,  in  which 
he  occasionally  indulged  himfelf  in  all  the  quar- 
ters round  his  new  habitation.  One  day,  his 
wandering  fteps  led  him  to  a  fmall  valley  the  fight 
of  which  alone  was  fumVient  highly  to  gratify 
his  contemplative  inclination.  Surrounded  by 
high  hills,  the  dopes  of  which  prefented  an  agree- 
able variety  of  corn  fields,  groves  and  cottages, 
it  feemed  to  be  the  retreat  of  rural  happinefs. 
The  ftillnefs  of  this  retired  vale  was  only  inter- 
rupted by  the  murmuring  found  cf  a  rivulet, 
E  2  which 


52  T  H  E    P  E  A  S  A  N  T, 

which  falling  down  a  rock,  reflected  from  its 
broken  waters  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  as 
the  fun's  rays  enlightened  it  at  a  certain  ele- 
vation. Its  froth  expanded  in  white  volumes 
round  the  balbn  which  it  had  hollowed  out  by- 
its  fall.  The  rivulet  afterwards  divided  itfelf 
into  feveral  fmaller  ones  which  interfered  the 
valley  in  many  directions,  and  frelhened  the 
verdure  of  the  meadows  by  their  beneficent  con- 
tributions of  moitture, 

Yet  the  mo  ft  pleating  fenfations  of  Mr.  Stan- 
ley's breaft  were  not  occalloned  merely  by  the 
natural  beauties  of  the  fpot.  The  whole  extent 
of  the  valley  was  covered  with  new  cottages, 
each  having  its  fmail  farm  annexed,  with  an 
orchard  and  kitchen  garden.  Thefe  parcels  of  land 
were  only  feparated  by  plain  goofeberry  hedges, 
which  feemed  at  once  to  indicate  the  value  of  the 
ground  and  the  mutual  confidence  of  the  inha- 
bitants. Mr.  Stanley  rejoiced  to  fee  that  no 
fingle  perfon  had  engrofied  to  himfelf  the  whole 
of  this  delicious  plain.  He  was  pleafed  in  the 
reflexion  that  many  families  might  there  enjoy 
the  fvveets  of  eafe  and  tranquillity.  While  he 
in  his  own  mind,  congratulated  the  owner  of  the 
hn<\^  who  had  a  number  of  fo  happy  tenants, 
he  thought  fome  praife  wasalfo  due  to  his  bene- 
ficence, which  had  certainly,  by  its  encourage- 
ment and  aifiltance,  occafioned  the  rich  fpeci- 
men  of  cultivation  that  he  admired.  So  wholly 
was  he  rapt  in  meditation  upon  this  interefting 
fubje:>,  that  he  had  not  obferved  the  gathering 
of  thick  dark  clouds  that  was  forming  over  his 

head 


HIS  COUNTRY'S  BE  i  OR 

head.  A  fhower  of  rain,  accompanied  with 
lightning,  foon  obliged  him  to  feek  for  Shelter. 
He  ran  therefore  and  knocked  at  the  door  o, 
firit  cottage,  which  was  opened  by  a  woman 
far  advanced  in  years,  but  whofe  countenance 
old  age  had  made  venerable.  She  received  him 
in  a  free  and  friendly  manner.  lam  very  glad, 
faid  (lie,  that  our  cottage  happened  to  be  the 
neareft  to  you,  though.  Pan  pretty  fiire,  our 
children  would  have  received  you  kindly  too, 
As  the  (form  furprized  you  in  the  middle  of  the 
plain,  you  could  hardly  mifs  of  applying  for 
(belter  to  fome  one  or  other  of  our  family.  But 
I  fee,  you  are  quite  out  of  breath.  Compofe 
yourfelf.  I  will  make  up  a  good  fire  for  you, 
that  you  may  dry  yourfelf  by  it. 

While  fhe  was  laying  on  fome  wood,  Mr* 
Stanley  was  looking  about  him  very  attentively. 
He  obferved  an  appearance  of  plenty  and  regu- 
larity in  the  difpofition  of  the  furniture,  that 
pleafed  him  very  much.  He  had  underftood,  by 
the  good  woman's  words,  that  a  great  part  of  the 
habitations  of  the  plain  was  occupied  by  her  chil- 
dren His  curiohty  was  roufed  by  the  circum- 
flance,  and  he  was  preparing  to  afk  a  few  quefti- 
ons  in  order  to  fatisfy  it,  when  he  heard  fomebo- 
dy  from  the  inner  room  fay,  "  I  hope,  dame,  you 
will  make  the  gentleman  welcome."  "  Yes,  yes, 
gaffer,  anfwered  fhe,  never  fear." — "That  is 
your  hufband,  then,  that  fpeaks  to  you,"  fays 
Mr.  Stanley.  "  Yes,  Sir,  he  is  within  there,  in 
that  room." — ct  Will  you  give  me  leave  to  pay 
my  refpecls  to  him  ?"  "  And  welcome,  Sir;  you 
will  perhaps  be  glad  to  know  each  other;  walk 
S  3  in." 


54  1   H  E     ir1  E  A  S  A  N  1 

in."  Mr.  Stanley  entered,  and  perceived  an  old 
man  lying  in  a  bed,  the  covering  of  which  was 
remarkably  neat.  His  head  was  bare  ;  his  locks, 
white  as  fnow,  fell  down  to  his  fhoulders  ;  his 
countenance,  which  time  had  refpected,  was  ex  - 
prelTive  of  the  tranquillity  and  goodnefs  of  his 
foul  ;  there  was  a  fmile  upon  his  lips,  and  his 
eyes  fparkled  with  the  fire  and  vivacity  ofyouth. 
Mr.  Stanley,  attracted  by  an  exterior  fo  prepof- 
feffing,  approached  him. 

Air.  Stanley.  What  is  the  matter  with  you, 
my  good  man  ?  are  you  lick  ? 

Old  Ma??.  No,  Sir,  I  thank  heaven,  I  am  not. 
But  when  one  has  ken  fourfcore  years,  one  can 
hardly  count  one's  felf  well,  though  not  under 
any  actual  diforder.  Yet  it  is  not  long  fmce  I 
have  left  off  daily  labor,  and  if  it  were  not  for 
fear  of  grieving  my  children — But  they  will  not 
have  me  work  any  more. 

Air.  Stanley*  They  are  right.  You  mutt  have 
purchafed  this  repofe  pretty  dearly. 

Old  Ma?i.  Though  I  fay  it,  I  think  I  have 
earned  it  fufficiently.  How  many  (heaves  of 
corn  have  I  tied  up  in  the  courfe  of  my  life  ! 
How  many  have  I  threfhed  out !  I  have  wearied 
my  poor  body  fadly,  that  is  certain.  Well,  in 
the  midft  of  all  thefe  labors  and  fatigues,  I  have 
always  carried  a  chearful  countenance  and  a  mer- 
ry heart  j  and  fo  I  wifh  dill  to  pafs  gently  through 
the  fmall  remainder  of  the  days  that  I  have  to 
Jive. 

Mr.  Stanley.  But  after  fo  ltirring  and  labori- 
ous a  life,  how  can  you  pafs  a  whole  day  in  bed 
without  being  tired  ? 

Old 


HIS  COUNTRY'S  BENEFACTOR.    $5 

Old  Man.  Tired  ?  I'faith,  I  have  fomewhat 
clfe  to  do  than  to  be  tired.  It  is  only  my  limbs 
that  are  out  of  action  >  my  head  is  full  employ- 
ed. The  thoughts  or  ten  children,  and  fifty 
grand  children  and  great  grand  children,  will 
fcarce  let  my  time  hang  heavy.  There  are  not 
too  many  hours  in  the  day  to  think  of  fo  many 
people.  Every  one  of  them  gives  me  an  account 
of  his  bufmefs,  and  the  ftate  of  his  family,  and 
upon  that  I  muft  go  to  work.  I  have  always 
fome  of  them  to  marry,  and  I  look  twice  before 
I  match  them.  If  they  have  all  profpered,  they 
may  thank  me  for  it.  There  is  not  a  fingleone 
of  them  fettled  in  the  world,  who  did  not  take 
up  my  thoughts  a  year  beforehand.  I  have  now 
three  marriages  to  conclude,  and  I  hope  that  the 
parties  will  live  as  happily  as  their  parents  before 
them. 

Mr.  Stanley.  Then  you  are  fatisfied  with  the 
fituation  of  your  family  ? 

Old  Man.  O  Sir  !  it  makes  me  happy  to 
fpeak  of  them.'  Dame,  go  fetch  us  a  cup  of 
that  old  ale.  It  will  help  me  to  talk  about  our 
young  ones. 

Mr.  Stanley.     Have  you  many  of  them  here  ? 

Old  Man.  Only  two  grand- daughters.  I 
could  as  foon "quarter  a  regiment  as  lodge  them 
all.  It  was  not  my  cabin,  but  my  lands  that  I 
wifhed  to  enlarge.  I  thank  God,  I  have  been 
able  to  give  a  pretty  parcel  of  land  to  each  of 
them,  without  hurting  myfelf.  7'here  was  a 
good  deal  of  ground  hereabouts  that  had  been 
impoverished;  it  was  let  to  me  at  a  low  rent.  I 
took  care  iirft  to  put  it  into  good  heart  again,  and 

parcelled 


56  THE     PEASANT, 

parcelled   it  off  among  my  daughters  for  their 
portions.     It  brings  in  money  now. 

Mr.  Stanley.  And  in  this  great  number  of 
children  h<s  none  ever  caufed  you  any  forrow  ? 

Old  Man.  Sometimes,  by  their  ficknefs  ;  but 
I  have  always  been  able  to  lecover  them  by  re- 
gular diet  and  fimples  with  which  I  am  acquaint- 
ed. In  other  refpects  they  have  always  made 
me  happy. 

Mr.  Stanley.  Apparently  becaufe  you  have 
always  given  them  a  ^ood 

Old  Man.     I    dare  take   upon   me  to  fay   (o, 
When  I  was  young,   to  be  lure,    I  was  all  alive, 
like  other  folks  ;   1  ran  about  to  every  wake  and 
revel ;  but  as  foon  as  1  had  once  pronounced  the 
folemn  word  /  wili\  in  church,  1  left  off  all  thole 
youthful  tricks.      Happily  my  wire  was  hand* 
fome,  good-natured  and  virtuous.       That  keeps 
a  man  in  awe.     B  elides,  children  began  to  come 
on  apace.   *I  was  not  rich  at  the  time,  and  it  I 
had  been  fufficiently  fofor  myfelf,  I  had  affeclion 
enough  for  my  family,  to  wifh  them  alio  a  com- 
petency.    I  trained  my  children  up  to  work  ve- 
ry youpg,     I    carried  them  to  the  fields  as  foon 
as  they  could  walk.    The  youngeft  I  feated  upon 
the  plough,  while  the  reft  played  round  about  us. 
My  daughters  amufed  us  with  tinging,  while  they 
fpuu  at  their  wheel,      in  fhort,  I  taught  them  all 
to  work  chearfully   for  their   bread,    that   they 
might  eat  it  happily. 

.  Stanley.     And  do   you    fee    them   fome- 
times  ? 


.    See  them,  Sir  >  When  I  was  light- 
er, I  ufed  to  iro  my  rounds  among  them  once  a 

week, 


HIS  COUNTRY'S  BENEFACTOR,    si 

week,  to  fee  that  every  thing  went  on  well  in 
their  families.  Now,  when  I  cannot  go  out,  ir  is 
their  tarn  to  vifit  me.  Every*  Sunday  after  pray- 
ers, my  daughters,  my  grand-daughters,  and  my 
daughters-in-law,  bring  their  children  here.  It 
Would  be  a  good  fight  to  fee  me  in  the  middle  of 
twenty  women,  drefed  in  their  Sunday  clothes, 
and  as  frefh  as  rofes.  Thefe  all  vie  with  each 
other  in  their  fondnefs  to  me  ;  and  their  chil- 
dren have  a  certain  family  refemblance  that 
charms  me,  I  have  generally  a  dozen  of  them 
in  my  arms  and  playing  about  me.  Then  there 
is  fuch  a  buz,  and  a  chatter,  as  would  ftun  ano- 
ther perfon,  but  it  is  mufic  to  my  ears. 

Mr.  Stanley.  I  can  eafily  imagine  that  it  muft 
be  a  delightful  moment  for  you. 

Gld  Man.  And  for  them  too,  I  flatter  myfelf. 
I  like  to  fee  chearfulnefs  all  round  me.  Behind 
my  barn  I  have  a  grafs  plat  on  purpofe  for  danc- 
ing. It  is  the  lafl:  fpot  of  ground  on  which  I  e^ 
ver  worked.  I  open  the  ball  with  my  dame,  and 
then  every  one  falls  a  capering  about  us.  They 
take  care  to  play  fome  of  the  old  fafhioned  coun- 
try dances  of  my  time.  Methinks  then  the 
ground  lifts  me  up,  and  I  bound  as  lightly  as  any 
of  the  young  folks. 

Mr.  Stanley.  Have  you  fiddlers  then  herea- 
bouts ? 

Old  Man.  None  that  play  for  money.  But 
my  grandfon  Arthur  can  manage  a  fiddle  charm- 
ingly. The  young  rogue  is  only  fifteen,  and  he 
plays  on  it  (o^  as  to  fet  the  whole  village  in  mo- 
tion. Oh  !  if  I  had  him  here  to  mew  him  to 
you  J  he  is  the  rery  model  of  me,  except  thefe 

wrinkles  ^ 


$8  THE     PEASANT, 

wrinkle?,  and  his  rofy  complexion,  which  I  have 
no  longer  in  my  checks.  And  indeed  he  is  mv 
Benjamin,  the  darlmg  of  my  heart.  I  can  tell 
you  Jo  much,  Sir,  as  you  are  a  itranger,  but  i 
mould  not  wi.fh  that  any  of  the  family  knew  it. 

Mr.  Stanley  But  the  rime  mult  appear  tedi- 
ous to  you  when  you  have  not  theie  amufe- 
ments. 

Old  Alan.  If  I  have,  not  thofe,  I  have  others. 
Having  never  been  from  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try, i  know  it  as  well  as  1  do  my  own  cabin,  and 
all  the  inhabitants  likeWtfe.  1  have  been  at  the 
birth  of  them  all.  They  come  to  confult  me 
about  laying  down  their  grounds  They  have 
only  to  bring  me  a  bafket  of  the  earth  or  each 
farm.  I  handle  it,  and  tafte  it,  end  tell  at  once 
what  fort  of  grain  it  wiil  produce  beft.  If  they 
are  poor  folks,  I  lend  them  feed,  which  they  pay 
me  after  the  harveit  ;  and  1  prevail  upon  thofe 
whom  I  have  ferved,  to  lend  them  a  day's  work, 
which  is  all  the  return  that  I  afk  for  my  fervices. 
I  have  (cQn  the  time  when  every  one  worked  only 
for  himfelf,  and  would  have  thought  that  lie  en- 
riched himfelf  by  ruining  his  neighbour*  I  con- 
trived, however,  at  length,  to  perfuade  them,  that 
the  richer  the  country  was,  the  richer  each  would 
be  in  particular  ;  that  the  fruits  of  the  earth 
would  fell  better,  and  attract  manufacturing  peo- 
ple to  this  oAuarter,  by  the  plenty  of  them  and 
their  good  quality  ;  and  that,  in  order  to  effect 
this,  they  ought  to  aifiit  each  other.  According 
as  the  feafon  is  wet  or  dry,  the  crop  of  the  low 
grounds  is  pn®re  or  lefs  forward  than  that  of  the 
uplands.  I  prevail  upon  them  to  unite  and  be- 
gin 


HIS  COUNTRY'S  BENEFACTOR.    59 

gin  with  the  firfl:  ripe  ;  thus  the  whole  is  got  in 
at  its  juft  point  of  maturity.  in  fair,  you  may 
enquire  at  the  markets  all  round  concerning  our 
grain.  The  factors  ftrive  which,  (hall  buy  it  up, 
So  netlajes  they  come  and  take  it  in  the  crop, 
and  our  corn  has  been  fold  before  it  was  put  in- 
to the  ground  ;  whereas  if  there  come  ten  bufh- 
els  of  bad  corn  from  a  parifli,  it  is  enough  to 
give  all  the  reft  a  bad  name. 

Mr.  Sianlev.  Thefe  reflexions  are  fimple,  and 
yet  it  is  feldom  that  they  occur  to  country  peo^- 
pie.     How  came  you  to  make  them  ? 

Old  Man.  By  degrees,  from  the  experience  of 
each  year.  Beiides  I  muft  fay,  I  have  been  well 
aflifted.  Our  vicar  is  a  fenfible  man  ;  I  had 
made  him  as  rich  as  a  dean,  by  the  weddings, 
the  chriitemngs,  and  the  tithes  that  I  brought 
him.  He  fometimes  touched  upon  the  good  ef- 
fects of  my  practice,  in  his  fermons.  Befides, 
when  our  head  landlord  came  down  to  refide 
here,  he  faw  his  lands  quite  changed,  they  let  for 
double  the  rent  ;  upon  which  he  (hewed  me 
marks  of  his  regard.  If  there  was  any  new  ex- 
periment of  agriculture,  in  your  London  papers, 
they  will  come  both  of  them  to  confult  me.  I 
made  the  experiment  before  their  eyes,  and  as 
foon  as  it  fucceeded,  it  Was  prefently  fpread.  Far- 
mers follow  their  old  way,  and  defpife  any  dif- 
coveries  taken  from  books,  but  thofe  that  1  had 
approved,  there  was  no  contradicting.  They  * 
put  them  in  practice,  and  found  the  good  effects 
of  them.  Befides  my  doctrine  is  not  very  long- 
winded.     I   deliver   the  whole  of  it   in   a   few 

words. 


60    .      THE    PEASANT, 

words.       War  with  our  lands>  and  peace  with  our 
friends. 

Mr.  Stanley.  At  this  rate,  I  imagine,  you 
have  not  enriched  the  attorney,  as  much  as  you 
have  the  vicar. 

Old  Man  {jmiling. )  It  is  true,  I  have  taken 
many  a  caufe  out  ot  his  worfhip's  hands.  I 
lhould  be  as  rich  as  a  judge,  if  I  had  only  taken 
a  milling  for  every  difpute  that  I  have  fettled. 
There  is  always  fome  little  quarrel,  in  a  country 
village,  upon  one  fubject  or  another.  They 
come  to  afk  my  advice.  If  one  of  the  parties  be 
at  a  diihnce,  they  take  me  in  a  chaife  cart,  and 
convey  me  to  the  fpot.  There  upon  hearing 
the  merits  of  the  caufe,  I  endeavor  to  accom- 
modate matters  fatisfa&orily.  It'  they  refufe  to 
agree,  I  invite  them  to  come  to  my  houfe  againft 
next  day.  I  have  fome  excellent  old  ale,  that 
■would  foften  hearts  of  ftone.  They  tafle  it,  and 
as  foon  as  it  begins  to  have  its  effect  upon  my 
difputants,  I  make  them  fenfible  that  a  law  fuit 
would  coft  them  ten  times  more  than  the  thin^ 
in  difpute  j  that  they  would  lofe  their  time,  their 
money,  their  reit,  and  the  pleafure  of  being 
friends.  I  mention  to  them  the  example  of 
thofe,  who,  through  not  taking  my  advice,  have 
impoverifhed  themfelves  to  make  lawyers  rich. 
Before  the  firft  mug  of  ale  is  finilhed,  they  no 
Monger  look  (hy  on  each  other,  and  the  fecond  is 
fcarce  half  emptied,  before  they  would  go 
through  fire  to  ferve  each  other.  Thus  I  give 
away  my  ale,  but  I  get,  in  return,  pleafure  and 
fatisfaSion  in  this  life,  and  good  hopes  for  that 
which  is  to  come. 

Mr. 


HIS  COUNTRY'S  BENEFACTOR.    61 

Mr.  Stanley.  You  muft  be  regarded  as  a  little 
king  in  this  country. 

Old  Man.  Why,  Sir,  I  govern  here  upon  my 
bed,  as  another  upon  his  throne.  But  I  am  not 
only  loved,  but  feared  alio.  Go  nearer  to  that 
wall.  Do  you  fee  there  names,  with  dates  of  the 
year,  that  I  have  cut  with  my  knife  ?  Some  of 
them  are  for  good  actions,  but  thofe  that  you  fee 
written  backwards,  are  marks  of  difgrace.  As 
our  head  landlord  and  the  vicar  are  (o  good  as  to 
come  fometimes  and  fee  me,  and  as  all  the  vil- 
lage are  constantly  flocking  to  my  cabin,  this  re- 
gister on  the  wall,  has  as  much  effect,  as  if  the 
folk's  names  were  put  in  the  newfpapers.  Your 
name  written  backwards  up  there,  is  a  fort  of 
public  infamy.  Every  body  fhuns  you,  even  to 
the  children.  You  mud  mend  your  manners,  or 
decamp.  If  you  reform,  well  and  good,  I  re- 
verfe  your  name  ;  in  the  firft  place,  to  rettiove 
the  memory  of  your  difgrace,  and  then  to  en- 
courage you  in  good  behaviour.  Of  twenty 
names,  in  all,  that  I  have  thus  engraved  back- 
wards, there  remain  but  three  which  will  ferve  as 
an  example  for  a  long  time  to  come  ;  whereas  a 
name  written  up  there,  ftraight  forwards,  is  al- 
moft  enough  to  make  one  a  gentleman,  and  to 
fee  a  fmgle  letter  turned  backwards,  would  be  as  . 
dreadful  as  death  to  the  party,  fo  great  is  the  ad  - 
vantage  of  a  good  reputation.' 

Mr.  Stanley.  I  can  conceive  that  this  method, 
fimple  as  it  is,  may  be  very  effectual  ;  but  what 
moft  furprizes  me,  is,the  ufe  that  you  contrive  to 
make  of  your  ale.  It  generally  fets  the  villagers 
a  quarrelling,  but  you  make  it  the  mlnifter  of 
peace. 

F  Old 


62         THE      PEASANT, 

Oil  Man.  I  am  much  indebted  to  it  for  the 
advantages  that  I  have  enjoyed  from  it  in  my 
old  age.  For  thefe  ten  years  part,  it  has  renew- 
ed the  ftrength  of  my  ftomach,  and  warmed  the 
blood  in  my  veins.  I  never  drank  more  of  it 
than  was  neceflary  to  quench  my  thirft,  and  for 
that  reafon,  I  find  it  now  more  wholefome.  A 
glafs  of  it  is  fufficient  to  give  me  frefh  life,  and 
always  makes  me  young  again,  for  a  couple  of 
hours.  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  grown 
dry  with  hearing  me,  but  1  am  a  little  fo  with 
fpeaking.  I  feel  that  a  drop  of  it  would  come 
very  feafonably  to  me  at  this  moment.  But 
what  is  the  matter  with  my  poor  wife  ?  how 
Jong  (he  is  in  coming  !  Ah  !  there  is  a  very  good 
reafon  for  it  ;  feventy-five  years  of  age,  are  a 
pretty  heavy  load  to  carry.  But  hift  !  I  think 
I  hear  her. 

Wife.  Yes,  gaffer,  I  am  here. 
Old  Man.  Come,  damef  come,  my  dear  Sukey, 
fill  us  out  a  glafs.  You  fmile,  Sir  ;  but  when 
the  bottle  is  in  hand,  I  always  give  her  the  name 
of  her  youth.  I  need  only  look  at  her  through 
my  glafs,  and  (he  appears  to  me  as  frefh  as  fifty 
years  ago.  Sukey,  your  health  ;  Sir,  yours. 
{They  drink)  Well,  how  do  you  like  it  ? 

Mr.  Stanley.  Excellent,  upon  my  word.  I 
have  drunk  more  coftly  liquor,  but  never  with 
more  pleafure. 

Old  Man.  Becaufe  it  is  found  and  genuine. as 
xhe  good  will  that  gives  it.  But  how  is  this, 
Sukey,  you  fpare  it  !  Pfhaw !  there  will  always 
be  enough  of  it  for  us.  Let  me  fee  it  enliven 
you  a  little.  We  warmed  it  formerly,  let  it 
warm  us  now.     I  feel  it  begin  to  make  me  young 

3*am ; 


HIS  COUNTRY'S  BENEFACTOR.    63 

again;  I  feel  myfelf  as  fond  of  you,  as  when  I 
firft  went  a  courting.  If  you  are  not  married 
Sir,  already,  you  certainly  will  marry,  it  yen  take 
my  advice,  and  then  be  fo  kind  to  your  wife,  that 
you  may  always  remember  the  wedding" day  with 
pleafure,  'Tis  the  way  never  to  hd  yourfelf 
grow  old.  Afk  Sukey.  Speak,  dame,  do  you 
remember  our  wedding  ?  How  lovingly  I  clafped 
your  hand  before  the  altar  1  and  what  a  look,  of 
kindnefs  you  gave  me  !  It  touched  my  very  heart; 
nay,  the  impreflion  of  it  is  there  ftill.  To  be  fure 
(fmiling)  that  is  not  fo  long  ago  yet.  It  is  only  a 
fmall  matter  of  fixty  years. 

Wife^  Ah  !  they  have  paiTed  away  very  foon. 
The  beft  of  our  days  are  over,  my  good  man. 

Old  Man.  Nay,  are  you  not  as  happy  as  ever  ? 
Have  not  you  eafe  and  tranquility,  and  as  good 
health  as  you  can  expect?  Let  us  fee,  what  have 
you  to  wifli  for  ?  A  little  more  ftrength,  perhaps. 
But  heaven  has  ftrengthened ,  us  within,  and 
given  us  fpirits  to  enjoy  the  happinefs  of  a  long 
life.  When  our  bodily  ftrength  decays,  the  grave 
will  open  gently  to  receive  us. 

Mr.  Stanley.  Why  do  you  let  melancholy 
thoughts  intrude  upon  this  moment  of  pleafure  V 

Old  Man.  Oh!  Sir,  I  do  not  fear  death. 
Let  him  come  when  he  will  to  knock  at  my 
door,  I  will  ht  him  in,  without  being  frightened, 
Doft  think  that  I  have  forgot  that  we  mud  all 
die  ?  No  ;  as  we  have  begun,  we  my i\  make  an 
end. 

Mr.  Stanley.  You  have  found  means  to  make 
your  life  fo  happy  !  will  you  not  be  forry  to  quit 
it. 

F  2  Old 


64  THE    PEASANT, 

0/d  Man.  I  mould  be  much  more  fo,  had  I 
/pent  it  ill,  had  I  been  idle,  and  a  libertine  ;  if 
I  had  not  done  all  the  good  that  was  in  my  pow- 
er, or  if  I  had  left  a  large  family  in  a  ilate  of  po- 
verty or  vice,  through  my  fault.  Jnftead  of  fuch 
an  afnicTting  retrofpecr,  I  look  back  on  fourfcore 
years  of  ufeful  labor,  of  lands  improved,  and 
friends  ailiited.  I  fee  my  fons  and  grandfons 
well  to  live,hone(t  and  laborious,  united  infriend- 
fhip  together,  beloved  and  refpecled  by  all  the 
country.  I  leave  my  e\dQi\  fon  my  cottage,  he 
will  fill  my  place  in  it,  and  my  duties.  As  head 
of  the  family,  he  will  be  for  his  brothers  and 
their  children,  what  I  have  been  for  mine.  It  is 
fsveet  to  carry  this  comfort  with  me  to  the  grave. 

Mr.  Stanley.  But  you  will  hear  their  fighs  at 
parting  with  you.  How  grievous  muft  that  le- 
paration  be  ! 

Old  Mail.  I  do  believe  they  will  be  very  forry 
to  lofe  me,  but  I  fhall  endeavor  to  comfort  them. 
A  peafant  knows,  better  than  any  other,  the  law 
of  nature  and  the  force  of  neceflity.  He  fees, 
every  day,  old  trees  replaced  by  young  ones.  He 
fees,  every  year,  the  winter  devour  the  produce 
of  the  other  leafons.  I  will  reprefent  all  this  to 
my  children,  when  they  (hall  aflemble  round  my 
death  bed  ;  I  will  make  them  fenfible  that  my 
Maker,  after  having  given  me  a  long  and  happy 
old  age,  crowns  all  his  blelfings  to  me,  by  taking 
me  from  life,  before  it  becomes  a  burthen  by 
pains  and  infirmities.  I  will  tell  them  that  I  on- 
ly leave  them,  to  go  and  join  my  Heavenly  Fa- 
ther, who  holds  forth  his  hand  from  above  to 
receive  me,  and  that  I  will  never  ceafe  to  look 

down 


HIS  COUNTRY'S  BENEFACTOR,    65 

down  upon  them  with  affection,  as  Ions  as  their 
race  continues  upon  the  earth  ;  I  will  repeat  this 
to  them  with  my  lafl  breath,  and  certainly  they 
will  be  comforted  for  my  death,  when  i  look  up- 
on it  myfelf  as  a  happinefs. 

Mr.  Stanley.  Brave  old  man  !  whence  have 
you  this  tirmnefs  ? 

Old  Man.  From  a  guiltlefs  heart,  fupported 
and  ftrengthened  by  heaven,  that  heaven  which 
I  hope  foon  to  inherit. 

Mr.  Stanley,  You  have  no  fears  then  as  to 
futurity  ? 

Old  Man.     As  long  as  it  was  in  my  power  to 
do  ill,  I  had  my  fears  ;  at  prefent  my  heait  is  ca- 
pable of  no  other  pamon,  but  univerfal  love.     O 
Gracious  Lord,-  after  fo  many  blemngs  as  thou 
haft  fhowered  down  upon  my  head,   mail  I  dare 
to  afk  thee  for  one  more  ?  Behold  the  compani- 
on wh%m  thou  haft  given  me,  to  (hare  with  me 
the  pleafures   and  the  cares  of  life  :   we   hav* 
grown  old  together,  grant  that  we  may  die  both 
at  once,     How  mould  I  be  able  to  iurvive  her  t 
Could  my  trembling  hand  have  itrength  to  clofe 
her  eye-lids  ?  And  again,   what  would   become 
of  her,  at  fo  advanced  an  age,  were  the  to  lofe 
me,  and  no  longer  hear  me  aniwer  to  her  pi?. 
tive  call  ?  Were  (he  to  be  buried  in  the  foliiude 
of  this  cottage  as  in  a  tomb  ?  Permit  not  death 
to  feparate  two  perfons  whom  nothing  has  fepa- 
rated  for  fifty  years.     Grant  us  this  requeft,  O 
Lord,  this  hit  requeft.     It  is  the  only  one  that 
thou  haft  left  us  under  the  necefTuy  of  afking 
thee.     We  wiih  not  to  prolong  our  term  of  life  ; 
difpofe  of  us  when  thou  wilt,     Let  us  oniy  dk 
F  7  hand 


66  THE     PEASAN  T, 

hand  in  hand,  and  thus  prefent  ourielvcs  be 
thee,  to  give  an  account  of  our  actions.     As  we 
have  been  united  through  life,  let  us  not,  we 
pray  thee,  be  feparated  at  our  latter  end. 

The  old  man,  who  had  raifed  himfelf  up  in 
his  bed,  to  addrefs  thefe  words  to  his  Creator, 
fell  back  with  fatigue  as  he  finifhed  them.  Mr. 
Stanley  was  terrified,  and  ran  for  his  wife  to  a  flirt 
him.  She  had  fallen  on  her  knees,  in  a  corner 
of  the  cottage,  at  the  beginning  of  his  prayer  : 
her  hands  were  full  lifted  up  to  heaven.  He  led 
her,  trembling  as  fhe  was  with  terror,  to  the  old 
man,  who  dispelled  the  apprehenfions  of  both 
by  a  fmile,  and  by  the  livelinefs  of  his  action  as 
lie  waved  his  hand  to  them.  However,  Mr. 
Stanley  judged  that  repofe  would  be  neceffary  to 
him, after  an  emotion  (o  violent,  for  his  age  ;  he 
therefore  thanked  thefe  good  people  for  their 
hofpitality,  and  promifed  to  come  again  and  fee 
them,  after  a  few  days. 

The  ftorm  which  had  forced  him  to  feek  ftiel- 
ter  in  the  cottage,  was  now  over.  Nature,  com- 
ing forth  from  her  gloomy  drefs,  had  once  more 
aflumed  a  radiant  cheerfulnefs.  The  fun,  who 
was  now  near  fetting,  feemed  to  (bine  with  new 
fpiendor.  Thefe  objects  brought  back  the 
thoughts  of  the  old  man  to  Mr.  Stanley's  ima- 
gination. They  represented  his  foul  fpotlefs  and 
ur.fullied,  alternately  yielding  to  impreflions  of 
tendcrnefs  and  gaiety  ;  and  the  ftrength  and  fer- 
vor of  his  fpirit  juft  then  blazing  forth,  when  it 
was  going  to  be  finally  extinguilhed.  He  ima- 
gined to  himfelf  all  that  one  fingle  man,  in  the 
moft  humble   ■  tUon,  could  do  For  the  advantage 

of 


HIS  COUNTRY'S  BENEFACTOR.    6y 

of  fociety.     Fifty  induftrious  citizens  given  to 
the  ftate.     His  active  years  employed  in  bring- 
ing up  his  children  to  honeft  labor,  and  his  old 
age  dedicated  to  the  maintenance  of  peace  and 
unanimity  among  his  neighbors.     With  what 
freedom,  thought  Mr.  Stanley,   did  he  fpeak  to 
me  of  the  good  that  he  had  done,  and  the  con- 
fidence which  he  repofcs  in  the  Supreme  Being  ! 
what  tranquility  of  confcience  !    how  happy  a 
ftatc  of  afTurednefs  !   Who  would  not  prefer  the 
found  old  age  of  this  honeft  peafant,  the  bene- 
factor of  his  country,  though  allotted  to  a  ftate 
of  obfcurity,  proud  of  his  own  efteem,   and  en- 
joying the  trueft  honor,  that  of  leaving  behind 
him  a  refpe£table  memory,  to  the  decrepitude  of 
thofe  great  men   who   only  ufe  their  riches   in 
fcattering   round  them  corruption  and  obloquy, 
who  feel   the  public  contempt  fall   light  upon 
them,  habituated  as  they  are  to  the  contempt  of 
their  own  fouls,   and  'whom  even  the  grave  will 
not  have  power  to  refcue  from  infamy  and  exe- 
cration. 

But  why  introduce  thefe  images, fo  afHiiling  to 
the  virtuous,  while  there  are  others  fo  proper  to 
infpire  them  with  confolation  and  delight  ? 
While  the  portrait  of  a  Howard  is  at  hand,  that 
benevo'ent  traveller  who  has  already  ieveral  times 
gone  over  a  great  part  of  P2urope,  viiiting  the 
children  of  captivity,  and  who,  by  his  eloquent 
writings,  and  the  authority  of  his  virtues,  has 
procured  more  humane  treatment  to  a  race  o'i 
men,  often  more  unfortunate  than  guilty  !  or  of 
a  Button,  who  erodes  the  feas  at  the  age  of  fiv- 


63"        SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

ty,and  without  affuming  any  other  character  than 
that  of  minirter  of  humanity,  treats  with  thoie  of 
the  (late,  concerning  the  exchange  of  prifoners 
of  war,  and  returns  modeftly  to  his  own  coun- 
try, to  afTift  thofe  unfortunate  perfons  of  whom 
he  is  the  friend  and  fupporter.  Generous  men  ! 
you  need  not  my  praife  to  recompenfe  your  vir- 
tues. They  find  a  reward  worthy  of  them,  in 
that  very  fentiment  which  infpired  them,  and  in 
the  good  that  they  have  produced.  More  need 
is,  that  I  endeavor  to  confecrate  them  in  the 
memory  of  tender  youth,  a  (hrine  fuitable  to 
their  purity,  and  to  preferve  your  name  as  long 
as  I  can  upon  the  earth.  If  the  love  and  rever- 
ence of  humanity  can  be  kindled  in  the  fouls  of 
youth,  let  them  owe  it  to  the  force  and  imprefli- 
on  of  your  examples,  and  to  the  noble  defire  of 
imitating  them. 


m 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

MRS.  Crofby  had  retired,  in  the  third  year 
of  her  widowhood,  to  a  fmall,  but  com- 
modious houfe,  at  fome  diftance  from  London. 
Here  (he  endeavoured  to  amufe  the  grief  which 
fhe  felt  for  the  lofs  of  her  hufband,  by  attending 
to  the  education  of  a  daughter  whom  (he  regard- 
ed as  the  only  remaining  pledge  of  their  mutual 
afTe&ion.  She  herfelf  had  been  married  very 
young,  and  her  father,  when  he  made  an  advan- 
tageous bargain^  as  it  is  called,  in  the  difpofal  of 

her 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        69 

her  hand,  imagined  that  the  fplendor  of  a  largo 
fortune,  and  a  few  fhewy  accompRfhments, 
would  enable  her  to  appear  in  the  world  with 
fufficient  diftinction.  As  he  w?s  always  invoU 
vcd  in  the  hurry  of  bufinefs,  or  engaged  in  tu- 
multuous difllpation,  he  had  never  reflected,  that 
in  a  calmer  Hate  of  life,  his  daughter  would  have 
any  more  occafion  than  himfelf  for  thofe  to* 
fources  of  the  heart  and  understanding,  which 
arifc  from  a  proper  cultivation  of  both,  or  that 
the  better  choice  he  made  of  a  huflband  for  her, 
the  more  necerTary  thefe  advantages  would  be  to 
her  in  order  to  gain  his  elieem,  and  preferve  his 
attachment,  Thefe  considerations,  obvious  as 
they  were,  never  once  occurred  to  him,  and  of 
all  the  cares  that  he  felt  for  the  happinefs  of  his 
daughter,  the  moll  ufef ul  were,thofe  to  which  he 
leaft  attended. 

It  was  nor  long  before  Mrs,  Crofby  felt  and 
regretted  th:rne;::r^,  particularly  as  fliers*  now 
phceil  m  the  fociety  of  a  man,   diftinguifhed  for 
delicacy  of  fentiment,   and  clearness   of  under- 
/landing,    and    who   united    a    large  portion    of 
knowledge,  to  a  refined  tafte.     While  fne  fought 
therefore  to  fupply  the  deficiency  of  her  cwnV 
ducation,  me  refolved,  above  all  things,  to   aWid 
any  fuch  riegFe&  in  that  of  her  daughter.     The 
amufements  of  town   had  never  totally  divert- 
ed  her  from  this  project  and    the  folitude   in 
which  (he  propofed  to  pafs  her  widowhood,  af- 
forded her  there  all  the  leifure  neeeffary  for  put- 
ting  it   in  execution.      She   had  already  taken 
advantage  of  the  firff  years  of  Emily's  childhood, 
to  perfect  herfelf  in  thofe  things  which  fne  pro- 
pofed 


70        SYSTEM  OF  THE  "WORLD,  i 

pofed  one  day  or  other  to  teach  her.  Her  appli- 
cation and  force  cf  memory,  her  quick  and  juft 
apprehenfion,  fo  will  fulfilled  the  views  which 
her  affection  had  fuggefted,  that  (he  was  now 
perfect  miftrefs  of  ancient  and  modern  hiftory, 
geography  and  the  elements  of  marhematicks, 
and  had  fome  general  notions  of  aftronomy  and 
natural  philofophy.  In  order  to  be  able  by  her- 
felf  alone  to  inftruft  her  daughter,  /he  had  ac- 
quired her  own  knowledge,  without  any  other  aids 
than  good  books  of  introduction  to  thofe  feveral 
fciences.  Thus,  while  Hie  fought  for  herfelf  the 
mod  pleafing  and  effectual  mode  of  initruclion^ 
the  ftudied  beforehand  that  which  would  be  moft 
proper  for  Emily's  understanding,  Whofe  acute- 
nefs  and  vivacity,  from  an  infant,  afforded  the 
molt  favorable  hopes  ;  nor  did  her  fubfequent 
improveriicnf  difappoint  them.  Emily,  now 
fcarcely  thirteen,  had  already,  by  her  progrefs  in 
learning,  and  her  dutiful  behavior,  begun  to  re- 
ward the  pains  which  her  mother  had  taken  in 
inftru&ing  her.  Their  hours  were  fpent  in  the 
pureft  enjoyment  of  mutual  happinefs,  The 
company  of  a  few  particular  acquaintances  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  the  vifits  which  they 
fometimes  received  from 'their  friends  in  town, 
were  the  only  interruptions  to  their  ftudies,  the 
variety  of  which,  together  with  the  culture  of 
flowers,  and  the  care  of  their  finging-birds,  ferved 
as  a  relaxation  to  them. 

Whether  it  was  to  purge  her  daughter's  heart 
of  every  fentiment  of  vanity,  or  to  rid  her  houfe 
of  a  load  of  viiitors,  Mrs.  Crofby  had  thought 
proper  to  conceal  her  fortune,  and  affumed,  as 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        ?I 

a  pretext  for  her  country  retirement,  the  necefTi- 
ty  of  retrieving  her  affairs,  by  ftricT:  ceconomy. 
Thus,  while  (he  avoided  the  tirefome  details  and 
ufelefs  expenfe  of  a   great  houfe,  (he  had  more 
time   to   apply  to  her  labors,    and   was   better 
able  to  indulge  her  generofity  by  the  private  be- 
nefactions which  (he  fo  liberally  difpenfed.  From 
the  tranquility  of  fo  agreeable  a  life,   the  fatis- 
faction  of  feeing  her  daughter  equal  her  hopes, 
and  a  good  (tate  of  health  acquired  by  exercife, 
temperance,  and  regularity,  (he  had  contracted 
an  unchangeable  ferenity  of  temper,   and  fuch  a 
fprightlinefs  in  converfation,  as  made  her  com- 
pany  highly  delightful  to  little  Emily.       The 
feelings  of  her  young  heart  were  wholly  dedicated 
to  her  mamma,  and  the  memory  of  her  father 
which  Mrs.  Crofby  took  care  to  keep  up,  by  the 
example  of  her  own  forrow  for  his  lofs,  and  by 
trie  remembrance   thit  (he  expreffed  of  his  good 
.  qualities.     Emily,  brought  up  in  all  the  freedom 
of  ingenuous    innocence,  had  not    a    thought, 
that  (he  needed  to  conceal  from  her  affectionate 
friend,  and  therefore  had  preferved  that  amiable 
fimplicity,  which   is   the   fweeteft  ornament   of 
reafon.     As  all  her  reflections  had  arifen  from 
what  (he  heard  in  converfation  with  her  mother, 
they  were  of  a  lively  and  animated  turn,  fuch  as 
the  warmth  of  converfation  generally  produces, 
and  (he  delivered  her  thoughts  with  equal  clear- 
nefs  and  force,  equal  corre&nefs  and  vivacity. 

Mr.  Glanville,  brother  to  Mrs.  Crofby,  whom 
fhe  loved  affectionately,  from  a  child,  was  fettled 
in  London,  where  he  held  an  honourable  poft 
under  government ;  and  the  duties  of  this, 
together  with  the  ftudy  of  natural  fcience.  which 

he 


72        SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

he  cultivated  fuccefsfully,  were  his  chief  employ- 
ments. Two  daughters,  as  yet  under  the  firft 
cares  of  their  mother,  and  little  George,  now 
twelve  years  old,  made  up  liis  family.  Amidft 
the  corruption  of  a  capital,  his  houfe  was  a 
granger  to  immorality.  His  (on  had  never  been 
far  from  his  pretence.  Born  with  a  lively  ima- 
gination, an  ardent  and  fiearlefs  fpirit,*  franknefs, 
generofity  and  refolution,  George  was  mild,  and 
st  the  fame  time  fufceptible  of  the  mod  impetuous 
emotions.  He  was  even  at  his  age  ftrongly  in 
love  with  glory,  and  whatever  was  great.  When 
lie  heard  an  inttance  of  bravery  and  generofity 
related,  you  would  fee  his  breaft  heave,  and  the 
fire  fparkle  in  his  eyes.  While  Mr.  Glanville 
conceived  the  heft  hopes  from  fuch  a  difpofition, 
he  was  thoroughly  fenfible  of  the  anxiety  that  it 
might  caufe  him.  However,  his  fon's  tender 
affection  for  him  alleviated  his  fears.  He  had 
early  accuftomed  himfelf  to  manage  him  by  kind- 
nefs.  A  cold  Look  would  have  filled  George 
with  terror  ;  a  reproach  would  have  been  a 
fevere  punilhment  to  him. 

In  confequence  of  a  prefiing  invitation  which 
they  both  received  from  Emily's  hand,  though 
dictated  by  her  mamma,  to  fpend  a  few  days  of  the 
fummer  vacation  at  her  houfe,  they  arrived  there, 
as  it  happened,  the  day  before  her  birth -day  ; 
the  addition  of  this  company  made  it  therefore  a 
fort  of  feftival,  which  Emily  adorned  by  her  gra- 
ces, and  George  animated  by  his  vivacity.  Mrs. 
Crofby  repaid,  with  tears  of  joy,  the  amiable 
attentions  of  thefe  charming  children  ;  but  this 
happinefs  was  (till  more  increafed,  when  me  had 
an  opportunity  of  difcourfing  at  freedom  with 

her 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        73 

her  brother,  of  their  projects  and  expectations 
concerning  their  children.  Dinner  time,  which 
afFembled  them  and  their  young  family,  was  a 
new  fcene  of  delight.  After  a  Jong  feparation, 
to  find  themfelves  once  more  together,  amidft  all 
the  beauties  of  nature,  a  fine  country,  and  de- 
lightful weather,  and  in  the  prefence  of  objects  fo 
mutually  interefting  !  to  feel  the  fweet  emotions 
of  parental  tendernefs,  and  all  the  mingled  chari- 
ties *  of  duty  and  affection  !  you  would  have  but 
a  faint  idea  of  their  happinefs,  if  you  could  fup- 
pofe  that  thefe  terms  give  an  adequate  defcription 
of  it. 


FIRST    CONVERSATION. 

THE  finenefs  of  the  evening  having  invited 
them  to  walk  out,  they  went  all  together  upon 
the  terrace.  The  fun  was  going  to  fet,  he  was 
juft  touching  the  edge  of  the  horizon.  Mrs. 
Crofby,  breaking  off  her  difcourfe  all  at  once, 
went  and  feated  herfelf  on  the  end  of  a  (tone  feat 
which  fronted  a  large  walk  of  the  garden.  Mr. 
Glanville,  thinking  that  his  fifter  was  taken  ill, 
made  hafte  to  follow  her,  and  anxiouily  afked 
her  what  was  the  matter  ?  Nothing  at  all,  an- 
fwered  (he,  fmiling,  but  without  moving  her 
eyes,  which  were  fixed  upon  the  fetting  fun.  I 
will  fatisfy  your  furprize  and  curiofity  in  a  mo- 
ment, but  nrft  let  the  fun  difappear. 

G  Mr. 

*  Milton. 


74         SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

Mr.  Glanvillc,  and  the  children, looked  at  each 
other  in  iilcnce,  not  daring  to  interrupt  her. 
Prefently  the  fun  was  out  of  fight,  and  Mrs. 
Crofby  then  rifing  with  a  chearful  air,  I  am  fa- 
tisfied,  fays  (he,  every  thing  goes  on  well  in  the 
univerfe.  Thefe  words,  and  the  hafty  manner 
in  which  I  quitted  you  juft  now,  muft  furprize 
you  ;  I  mall  therefore  explain.  This  is,  you 
know,  my  birth-day.  It  feems  as  if  every  object 
in  nature  became  this  day  unufually  interefting 
to  me.  I  obferve  with  more  attention  whatever 
paries,  and  every  thing  affords  me  matter  for  re- 
flection. This  morning,  as  I  walked  in  my  or- 
chard, I  endeavored  to  remark  the  changes  that 
might  have  taken  place  in  the  trees  during  the 
courfe  of  the  laft  year.  I  faw  that  fome  began 
to  lofe  their  youthful  look,  and  others  to  fucceed 
them  in  ftature  and  vigor.  The  firft  afforded 
me  a  ferious  leffon,  but  the  latter  comforted  me 
with  a  pleafing  type  of  my  own  youth,  renewed 
in  my  daughter. 

Emily  killed  her  mother's  hand,  and  heaved  a 
figh. 

That  remark,  fays  Mr.  Glanville,  pleafes  me 
as  much  for  its  fortitude  and  philofophy,  as  the 
fentiment  which  is  connected  with  it,  does  by  its 
tendernefs.  But  do  your  obfervations  reach  to 
the  ftar  of  day  ?  were  you  uneafy  to  know  if  he 
had  loft  his  force  or  his  brightnefs  ? 

Mrs.  Crofby.  No,  brother,  my  thoughts  do 
not  extend  fo  far.  Lad  year,  on  this  fame  day, 
I  was  fitting  all  alone,  on  this  fame  feat,  and  loft 
in  an  agreeable  mufing.  I  was  obferving  the  fun 
fet,  and  took  notice  that  I  loft  fight  of  him,  ex- 

aftly 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        73 

a&ly  as  he  got  behind  yonder  Elm.  This  inci- 
dent ftruck  me  again  juit  now  all  at  once.  I 
wimed  to  fee  if  he  would,  on  the  fame  day  of 
this  year,  fet,  precifely  in  the  fame  direction.  I 
fhould  never  have  thought  the  earth  fo  regular 
in  her  movement. 

Mr.  Glanvilk.  Efpecially  as  me  has  travelled 
fince  that  time,  upwards  of  630,000,000  of 
miles. 

Mr.  Crofiy.  The  immenfity  of  fuch  a  circuit 
increafes  my  admiration  full  more,  at  finding  her 
fo  punctual. 

Mr.  Glanv'rile.  Why  fhe  might  make  you  as 
flattering  a  compliment,  iince  on  the  fame  day  of 
the  year,  and  at  the  fame  inftant,  me  finds  you 
in  the  fame  fpot  observing  her. 

Mrs.  Crofiy.  Aye,  but  brother,  let  us  not 
proudly  difpute  with  her,  the  praife  of  regulari- 
ty. Be  reafon  as  haughty  as  ihe  may,  with  her 
clue  and  her  torch,  a  blind  planet  will  {fill  go 
furer  than  fhe  can. 

Emily.  Oh  !  if  that  be  the  cafe,  here  are  the 
ftars,  uncle,  that  begin  to  appear  ;  and  I  am  glad 
they  are  able  to  give  our  globe  a  good  character, 
for  if  we  fhould  be  a  little  carelefs  in  our  moti- 
ons, the  earth  is  not,  and  perhaps  the  {tars  will 
take  us,  her  inhabitants,  to  be,  like  her,  very 
fteady  regular  folks. 

Mr,  Glanville.  It  is  here,  my  dear  Emily, 
that  we  fhould  begin  to  eftablifh  ourfelves  a  good 
reputation,  without  troubling  our  heads  with 
what  the  ftars  may  think  of  us.  And  after  all, 
fuch  a  mifconception  would  be  of  no  fervice  to 
G  2  us; 


76        SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

us  ;  for  the  ftars  fee  as  little  of  our  earth,  as 
they  judge  of  her  inhabitants. 

George.  What  !  while  we  have  perhaps  five 
hundred  telefcopes  in  the  air  to  obferve  them, 
they  do  not  vouchfafe  fo  much  as  to  look  at  us  ? 
Mrs.  Crojby.  Now  truft  your  poets,  that  talk 
of  extolling  the  praife  of  their  miilrefTes  to  the 
very  ftars. 

Mr\  Glanv'dh.  Without  being  more  credu- 
lous than  thofe  ladies,  why  mould  you  be  lefs  in- 
dulgent ?  If  the  flattery  of  this  fiction  could  e- 
ver  turn  their  heads,  it  has  at  leaft  never  offended 
them.  It  carries  its  own  pardon  with  it,  as  it 
arifes  from  the  poet's  wifh  to  fee  it  realized. 

George.  But  for  all  that,  papa,  it  is  hard  to 
be  fo  little  noticed  in  the  univerfe. 

Mr.  GlanvUle.  Do  not  be  uneafy,  my  dear  ; 
Mars  and  the  Moon  have  a  pretty  full  view  of 
us, 

Emily.  And  are  they  all  the  witneffes  to  our 
exiftence  ? 

Mr.  Gknvllls.  Mercury  and  Venus,  which 
are  placed  between  us  and  the  fun,  diftinguifh  us, 
perhaps,  if  they  are  not  dazzled  by  the  vaft  light 
that  furrounds  them  ;  but  as  to  Jupiter,  Saturn, 
and  the  Georgian,  Sidus^  I  doubt  whether  they 
know  the  leaft  tittle  about  us. 

George.  And  fuppofe  they  did,  it  is  not  by 
fuch  planets  as  our  own,  that  I  mould  care  about 
being  remarked. 

Mrs.  Crojby.  Yes,  I  fee  George  is  among 
thofe  ambitious  ones,  who  difdain  the  homage 
of  their  equals.     To  fatisfy  fuch  as-  him,  their 

fame 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 


77 


fame  muft  reach  the  fovereign's  notice,    and  that 
of  foreign  courts. 

George.  True,  I  mould  wifh  our  globe  to 
make  a  noife,  even  among  the  fixt  ftars. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Why  my  poor  little  friend, 
how  do  you  fuppofe  that  they  can  difcern  cs, 
fince,  if  the  earth  were  to  fill  up  the  whole  orbit 
of  630,000,000  miles  that  me  defcribes  in  a 
year,  (he  would  fwell  to  no  more  purpofe  than 
the  frog  in  the  fable,  and  be  but  a  point  in  the 
immenfity  of  fpace. 

George.     Blefs  me  !  is  it  poffible  r 

Mr.  Glanville.  I  could  prove  it  to  you  in  a 
moment. 

Emily,  But  however,  uncle,  if  we  were  in- 
creafed  to  the  fize  that  you  mention,  we  fhould 
be  much  larger  than  the  fun.  The  ftars  fee  the 
fun,  and  they  would  be  much  better  able  to  fee 
us,  in  thar  cafe, 

Mr,  Glanville.  Hark  ye,  Emily,  do  you  fee 
that  candle,  which  has  juft  appeared  at  fome 
houfe,  I  take  it,  about  two  or  three  miles  off? 

Emily.     Yes,  certainly,  uncle, 

Mr.  Glanville.  The  hcufe  is  much  larger 
than  the  candle,  which  throws  its  light  upon  it  -, 
can  you  diftinguifh  the  houfe  ? 

Emily.     No,  not  in  the  leaft. 

Mr,  Glanville.  You  fee,  then,  that  a  body, 
which  is  luminous  in  itfelf,  can  be  difcerned  at 
a  great  diftance,  while  a  much  larger  body,  that 
only  reflects  the  light  which  it  receives,  is  im- 
perceptible to  us. 

Emily.     That  is  true. 

G  3  '  Mr. 


?3        SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

Mr.  Glanvllk.  Now  reduce  the  earth  to  its 
real  proportion  :  inftead  of  being  large  with  re- 
fpecl:  to  the  fun,  as  the  houfe  is  with  refpect  to 
the  candle,  it  would  be  no  more,  in  comparifort, 
than  a  pin's  head  to  a  lighted  torch.  So  you 
may  judge  of  the  fplendki  figure  that  we  make 
in  the  univerfe. 

Emily.  Ah  !  George,  all  our  pretenfions  to 
the  notice  of  the  ftars,  are  brought  very  low. 

Mrs.  Crojby.  I  think  I  fee  one  of  our  great 
folks  in  London,  full  of  the  idea  that  all  the 
whole  kingdom  have  their  eyes  upon  him.  One 
might  perhaps  tell  him  with  truth,  that  he  is 
known  at  Hackney,  or  even  that  his  name  has 
been  mentioned  in  Croydon,  but  that  certainly 
his  renown  never  reached  as  far  as  Whitehaven. 

Emily.  Nay,  I  fhould  be  fo  much  out  of  con- 
ceit with  it,  were  I  my  coufin,  that  I  would  even 
wifli  to  hide  myfelf  from  the  moon. 

Mr.  Glanmlk.  No,  Emily ;  fuch  fullennefs 
might  coft  us  dear. 

Emily.     Pray,  how,  uncle  ? 

Mr.  GlinviHe.  Why  if  we  were  to  hide  our- 
felves  from  the  moon,  the  moon  in  return  would 
hicte  herfelf  from  us. 

Emily.  Oh  !  I  mould  be  forry  to  iofe  her 
mild  light. 

Mrs.  Crofb'y.  I  muft  confefs,  too,  that  I  am 
partial  to  her.  She  leems,  by  her  modeit  and 
bamful  air,  to  be  formed  for  the  fun  of  our  fex. 

Mr.  Glairjiilc.  A  happy  idea  enough  !  how 
many  prett)  whimfies  might  then  be  explained 
by  the  variety  of  her  phafes,  and  the  inequalities 
of  her  motion  !  You  fee  by  this,  my  friend,  that 

we 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        79 

we  have  nothing  to  lofe,  and  that  the  earth  is 
happy  enough  in  receiving  the  light  of  the  ftars 
that  furround  her,  without  vainly  afpiring  to  be 
diftinguifhed  by  them  for  her  fplendor. 

George.  It  is  a  great  pity,  that  we  are  not  a 
little  more  luminous,  for,  you  muft  confefs,  papa, 
that  we  could  not  be  placed  to  more  advantage, 
to  make  a  mining  figure. 

Mr \  Glanvilk ;.  What  induces  you  to  think 
our  pofition  fo  advantageous  ? 

George.  Oh !  it  is  plain  ;  only  look,  at  the 
vault  of  the  heavens.  You  fee  that  it  is  quite 
round  above  the  earth,  and  that  the  ftars  are 
placed  in  it  at  equal  diftances  from  us.  We  are 
juft  in  the  middle  of  the  univerfe. 

Mr.  Glanvilk.  My  dear,  do  you  remember 
the  handfome  profpecl:  that  you  pointed  out  to 
me  here,  this  morning?  the  hill,  the  wood,  thofe 
ruins  of  an  old  caftle,  and  the  village-fteeple  that 
feemed  to  lofe  itfelf  in  the  clouds  ? 

George.  Yes,  papa,  and  that  fine  large  walnut 
tree  that  we  paffed  yefterday  evening,  when  I  felt 
fuch  an  appetite  for  fome  of  the  walnuts.  I 
was  glad  to  fee  it  again,  though  at  a  diftance,  for 
it  appeared  to  me,  as  I  ftood  here,  to  be  jufu  on 
the  edge  of  the  horizon. 

Mr.  Glanvilk.  Your  perfpe&ive  is  not  quite 
exacT: ;  for  you  might  fee  far  behind  it  that  large 
gothick  caftle,  that  is  falling  to  ruin ;  you  know 
it  is  a  good  way  farther  off;  when  we  had  paffed 
it  in  the  chaife,  was  it  not  a  full  quarter  of  an 
hour  before  we  reached  the  walnut-tree  ? 

George.  That  is  true,  but  one  cannot  judge 
exacllv  of  diftances   which  are   fo  remote.     I 

fhould 


So        SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

fhould  fuppofe  the  tree,  I  allure  you,  from  this 
fpot,  to  be  in  the  fame  circular  line  with  the  hill, 
the  wood,  the  caftle,  and  the  village-fteeple  ;  and 
our  terrace  here,  to  be  in  the  centre  of  the  pro- 
fpect.     1  took  particular  notice. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Vv  hat  do  you  talk  of,  child  ? 
how  far  do  you  count  it,  fifter,  from  hence  to 
the  village  ? 

Adrs.  Crofby.     Almoft  nine  miles,  brother. 

Mr.  Glanville.     And  to  the  hill  I 

Mrs.  Crofby,     Full  fix. 

Mr.  Glanville.     And  to  the  wood  ? 

Mrs.  Crofby.     Only  a  mile  and  a  half  j  I  fre-- 
quently  waik  to  it,  and  with  eafe. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Now  I  guefs,  by  the  time  of 
our  coming,  that  the  caftle  is  about  two  miles 
and  a  quarter  from  this  place,  and  the  walnut- 
tree  about  half  that  diftance,  at  moft>  But  how 
do  you  compute?  thofe  objects,  fome  fo  far  off, 
and  fome  fo  near,  to  be  in  the  fame  circular  fweep 
from  this  point  !  all  thofe  inequalities,  both  of 
diftance  and  furtace,  to  form  a  round  and  regular 
horizon  !  and  our  terrace  to  be  exactly  in  the 
centre  of  all  that !  May  it  not  be  the  fame, 
George,  with  refpecl:  to  the  feemingly  regular 
arch  of  the  heavens,  and  thofe  ftars  that  appear 
to  be  tixed  in  the  fame  concave  furface  ?  and,  in 
fhort,  with  refpecl:  to  us  who  think  ourfelves  to 
be  in  the  centre  of  this  beautiful  fphere  ? 

George,  i  cannot  deny  it,  papa  ;  if  my  fight 
deceives  me  at  a  fmall  diftance,  it  very  well  may, 
where  the  fpace  is  fo  immenfe.  But  that  we  are 
not  in  the  middle  fpot  under  the  heavens,  I  can 
hardly  give  up.      1   would   have  wagered,  that' 

there. 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        ?i 

there  are  not  two  inches  more  on  one  fide  than 
the  other. 

Mr.  Glanvllle,  Let  us  try  that.  Before  we 
fat  down  to  dinner,  you  know,  we  went  to  fee 
the  clergyman  of  the  parifh. 

George.  Oh,  he  is  a  very  good  man  !  he  gave 
me  a  fine  pear. 

Mr.  Glanvllle.  That  mull  prove  him  to  be  an 
honeit  man.  However,  we  do  not  talk  of  his 
orchard  now,  but  of  his  garret.  You  remem- 
ber how  much  he  praifed  the  profpeet  that  is  to 
be  feen  from  the  window  of  it;  you  know,  we 
went  up;  well  ? 

George,  Yes,  and  his  garret  window  is  not 
higher  than  the  level  of  thi3  terrace. 

Mr.  Glanville.  What  !  is  not  there  a  wider 
profpecl:  from  it  than  from  this  fpot  ? 

George.  No,  indeed,  papa,  it  is  exactly  the 
fame.  I  remarked  the  fame  objects  quite  at  the 
edge  of  the  horizon,  as  here. 

Mr.  Glanville.  What,  was  his  houfe  the  cen- 
tre of  the  view  ? 

George.      Yes,  papa. 

Mr.  Glanvllle.  Then  you  were  not  in  the  cen- 
tre here.     A  circle  has  not  two  centres. 

George.  But  then  we  are  not  far  from  the 
clergyman's  houfe. 

Air.  Glanville.     Full  two  hundred  yards. 
George.     But  that  is  nothing  to  the  diftance 
of  the  objects  which  we  viewed. 

Mr.  Glanvllle.  It  follows  then,  that  when, 
from  two  different  points,  we  imagine  diftant  ob- 
jects to  retain  (till  the  fame  diftance,  thefe  points 
cannot  be  very  far  afunder,     In  fnort;  it  is  as 

if 


82         SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

if  they  were  only  one  point :  Is  not  that  the  cafe, 
George .? 

George,  Exactly,  papa  ;  you  have  juft  hit  my 
meaning;  1  like  your  way  of  explaining  it. 

Mr.  Glanviilc.  So,  there  is  fomething  to  en- 
courage me  ;  well  then,  let  us  go  a  little  further. 
You  know,  i  fuppofe,  as  well  as  Emily,  that  the 
earth  (hoves  in  an  orbit  round  the  fun.  I  will 
draw  it  here  upon  the  ground.  Do  you  fee  ?  it 
is  a  fort  of  oval,  cdled  an  ellipfe,  as  you  have 
been  told.  There,  it  is  tinifhed.  You  can  fee 
it  pretty  well  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  which  is 
juftrifmg.  I  will  put  down  my  hat  within  the 
orbit  for  the  fun. 

George.  A  fine  fun,  truly  !  all  black  !  flop, 
flop,   (runs  hajlily  towards  the  houje.) 

Mr.  Glanville.  Where  are  you  going,  George  ? 

George  (without  flopping.)  I  (hall  be  back  in 
an  inftant. 

Emily.     What  does  the  mad  creature  mean  ? 

Mr.  Glanville.  Let  us  wait  till  he  returns, 
before  we  paft  judgment  on  hirn. 

George,  (returning  in  few  minutes,  with  a  fervant 
carrying  a  torch. )  Have  1  made  you  wait  ?  There, 
John,  put  the  torch  in  the  place  of  this  hat.  I 
think,  papa,  that  makes  a  better  fun  than  yours; 
you  would  have  caught  cold  in  looking  at  the 
other.  Pray  put  on  your  hat,  papa,  for  fear  of 
the  dew. 

Mr.  Glanville.  I  thank  you,  my  dear,  for 
your  amiable  attention  This  torch  will  ferve 
us  too,  for  another  purpofe.  Stay  here,  John. 
Come,  children,  will  you  march  round  the  fun, 
that  you  may   know   your   orbit  ?  (£mily  and 

George 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        S3 

George  walk  round. )  Mighty  well.  Now,  John, 
take  the  torch  again,  and  run  to  the  further  end 
of  the  walk  ;  there  hold  it,  that  we  may  fee  it. 

John,   {going.)     Yes,  Sir. 

Emily.     What  are  you  going  to  do,  uncle  ? 

Air.  Glanville.  You  (hall  fee.  Is  John,. at 
his  poft  ? 

George.  There  ;  he  holds  us  the  torch  now. 
Oh  !  how  little  he  is  grown. 

Mr.  Glanville.  I  am  glad  that  you  have  re- 
marked that.  Come  hither,  to  this  end  of  the 
orbit. 

George,  Yes,  but  they  have  taken  away  our 
fun. 

Mr.  Glanville.  He  is  of  no  ufe  to  us  at  prefent, 
we  will  fuppofe  him  to  be  fet.  It  muft  be  night, 
before  we  can  fee  the  flars  ;  the  torch  mail  be 
one.  Look  well  at  it  firft,  to  be.fure  of  its  fize 
and  diftance. 

George.     Well,  I  have  remarked  it. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Come,  now  begin  to  march 
flowly  along  the  circular  line  of  the  orbit,  with 
your  eye  ft'tll  on  the  torch,  that  ftands  for  a  ftar. 
Move  forward,  do  you  fee  the  ftar  become  lar- 
ger or  nearer  ? 

George.  No,  papa,  it  feems  to  be  (till  the 
fame,  and  in  the  fame  fpot. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Then  go  farther  ftill,  as  far  as 
the  oppofite  part  of  the  orbit  to  that  from  which 
you  fat  out.  There,  flop  ;  well,  how  is  the 
ftar  ? 

George.     It  has  not  changed. 

m 


84         SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

Mr.  GlanviUe.  How !  does  not  it  appear  lar- 
ger or  nearer  ?  and  yet  you  have  moved  towards 
it ! 

George.  Yes,  a  good  deal.  But  it  is  perhaps 
fixty  yards  off,  and  i  am  only  come  nearer  to  it, 
by  the  length  of  the  diameter  of  this  orbit,  which 
is  about  fix  feet. 

Mr.  GlanviUe,  Thefe  fix  feet  are  nothing, 
then,  compared  to  the  diftance  of  the  torch  ;  and 
you  may  think,  it  would  be  Mill  le(s^  if  the  torch 
were  to  be  removed  farther  off;  for  inftance,  three 
miles,  till  it  appeared  no  bigger  than  a  fpark. 

George.  Nay,  then  the  whole  orbit  would  be 
no  more  than  a  point,  quite  imperceptible.  Let 
us  try  a  Jarger  fcale,  papa. 

Mr.  GlanviUe.  Come,  then,  to  fatisfy  you  ; 
take  a  diameter  of  two  hundred  millions  of 
miles,  which  is  that  of  the  real  orbit  of  the  earth, 
and  in(tead  of  the  torch,  your  imaginary  ftar, 
take  a  real  one. 

Emily.     Aye,  that  will  be  fomething. 

George.  Yes,  'tis  talking  to  the  purpofe. 
Come,  then,  begin. 

Mr.  GlanviUe.  Softly,  let  us  recollect  our- 
felves  a  little.  I  remember,  I  told  you,  when  I 
jujl  bit  vour  meaning  fo  well,  that  whenever  from 
two  different  points,  one  imagines  diftant  objecls 
to  preserve  ttil!  the  lame  diihnce,  thofe  two  points 
mud  be  fuppofcd  not  very  far  afunder  ;  and  in 
ihort,  it  is  jult  as  if  they  both  made  but  one. 

Gorge.     Yes,  that  was  it,  word  for  word. 

Mr.  GlanviUe.  Now  do  not  forget  what  you 
faid  juft  now,  that  our  little  orbit  here,  on  the 
ground,  would  be  no  more  than  an  imperceptible 

point. 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        85 

point,  compared  to  the  diftance  of  the  torch,  if 
it  were  fo  far  removed  as  not  to  appear  bigger 
than  a  fpark. 

George.     I  remember  it,  papa  ;  I  faid  fo. 

Mr.  Glanvillc  It  is  acknowledged,  that  the 
diameter  of  ths  earth's  orbit,  is  200,000,000 
miles.  The  earth,  therefore,  at  one  extremity  of 
this  diameter,  fees  the  oppofite  ftar  200,000,000 
miles  nearer  than  at  the  other. 

George.      That  is  plain. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Well,  if  the  earth,  from  two 
points  fo  different,  and  notwithftanding  the  enor- 
mous diftance  by  which  (he  is  nearer  in  one  of 
them,  fees  this  ftar  preferve  ftill  the  fame  diftance ; 
if,  notwithstanding  theimmenfe  bulk  of  thisftar, 
which  I  (hall  make  appear  to  you  by  and  by,  me 
never  perceives  it  to  be  larger  than  a  fparkling 
point,  the  twG  extremities  of  the  diameter  of  her 
orbit,  for  all  the  vaft  interval  between  them,  may 
then  be  imagined  to  coaiefce  in  one  point,  and 
this  immenfe  orbit  itfelf  will  appear  as  no  more 
than  fuch  a  point,  become  imperceptible  with  re- 
fpect  to  the  infinite  diftance  which  the  ftar  will 
preferve  from  her. 

Emily.  Well,  my  poor  George,  what  have 
you  to  fay,  in  reply  ? 

Mr.  Glanvillc.  But  if  this  immenfe  orbit  be 
no  more  than  an  imperceptible  point,  compared 
to  the  diftance  of  the  ftar,  what  will  the  globe  of 
the  earth  be  then,  compared  to  this  fame  diftance, 
the  earth  being  no  more  than  a  point,  as  it  were, 
in  the  immenfe  fpace  of  her  own  orbit  ?  Will 
this  proud  planet  then  imagine,  that  the  arch  of 
the  Heavens  is  built  only  to  form  a  pavilion  over 
H  hen 


86         SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

her,  in  which  the  ftars  are  fet  at  equal  diftances 
for  ornament,  and  that  (he  is  of  confequence  e- 
nough  to  occupy  the  middle  place  of  the  uni- 
verle,  in  which  ihe  is  hardly  fo  much  as  perceiv- 
ed ? 

George.  We  mu(t  be  content ;  but  I  feel  this 
littlenefs  of  ours  very  mortifying. 

Mrs.  Crofiy.  Well  now,  what  mortifies  me 
much  more,  is,  that  all  the  famous  philofophers  of 
antiquity,  would  place  our  inconsiderable  planet 
in  the  centre  of  the  univerfe,  and  no  where  elfe. 
I  fee,  that  in  the  firft  ages  of  wifdom,  men  were 
mil  but  a  compofition  of  pride  and  folly. 

Mr.  Glanvilk.  Pythagoras  had  brought  from 
Egypt  and  India,  the  founded:  notions  of  aftro- 
nomy,  which  he  extended  no  farther  during  his 
life-time,  than  the  compafs  of  the  fchool  that 
he  had  founded  in  Italy  ;  his  difciples,  however, 
carried  them  into  Greece,  after  his  death.  By 
this  great  man,  the  fun  was  placed  in  the  centre 
cf  our  fyftem,  the  planets  moving  round  him  in 
this  order,  Mercury,  Venus,  the  earth,  with  her 
moon,  Mars,  Jupiter  and  Saturn.  He  did  mif- 
take,  it  is  true,  as  to  their  diftances  and  magni- 
tudes ;  but  the  geometry  of  his  age,  was  not 
fufticiently  advanced,  nor  tnftruments  brought 
to  their  prefent  perfection. 

Mrs*  Crofby.  That  accounts  for  his  deficien- 
cy :  however,  he  was  frill  the  philofopher :  and 
was  his  fyftem  followed  i 

*  Mr.  Gknville,  How  could  he  fucceed  among 
people  who  were  taught,  by  their  men  of  genius, 
that  the  earth  was  flat$  like  a  table,  and  the  hea- 
vens an  arched    vault  of  hard  folid  matter,   like 

the 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        87 

the  earth  ;  or  that  the  fun  was  a  mafs  of  fire, 
fomewhat  larger  than  Peloponnefus ;  that  comets 
were  formed  by  the  accidental  concourfe  of  fe- 
veral  wandering  ftars  ;  that  ftars  were  only  rocks 
or  mountains  carried  up  by  the  revolution  of  the 
ether,  which  had  fet  them  on  fire  ;  or,  in  fhorr, 
that  the  ftars  were  lighted  up  at  night  to  be  put 
out  in  the  morning,  while  the  fun,  which  they 
made  a  fiery  cloud,  was  kindled  in  the  morning, 
to  go  out  at  night ;  and  that  there  were  feveral 
funs  and  moons  to  enlighten  our  different  cli- 
mates ?  Now,  if  the  ftar  of  day  was,  according 
to  all  thefe  notions,  lefs  than  the  earth,  could  it 
be  expecled  that  (he  would  refign  the  centre  of 
the  univerfe  to  him  ? 

Mrs.  Crofby.  This  was  reafoning  indeed,  wor- 
thy of  i\\q  people^  but  hardly  deferved  the  name 
of  philofophy. 

Mr:  Glanville.  Ptolemy  finding  thefe  opini- 
ons received  in  his  time,  and  building  on^the  fal- 
lacious evidence  of  the  fenfes,  eafily  perfuaded 
himfelf  and  others,  that  the  opinions  of  Pytha- 
goras were  only  vifionary,  that  the  earth  was  the 
centre  of  all  motion,  both  of  the  planets  (the  fun 
being  reckoned  among  them)  and  of  the  fixed 
ftars,  with  his  glafs  heavens,  which  he  blew  out 
at  one  whirT.  This  fyftem  held  its  ground  for 
more  than  fourteen  centuries,  patched  up  every 
day  with  fome  additional  abfurdity>  which  its  fa- 
vorers adopted,  in  order  to  defend  themfelves  a- 
gainft  the  objections  that  preffed  harder!:  upon 
them. 

Mrs.  Crofby.     I  think  the  centuries   that  you 

mentioned,  come  down  pretty  near  to  our  times. 

H2  Mr, 


83         SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

Air,  Glanville.  Well,  it  is  but  two  hundred 
and  forty  years  ago,  that  Copernicus  undeceived 
us  :  And  even  fince  that  period,  error  has  pre- 
dominated in  the  fcience,  though  under  another 
form. 

Mrs.  Crojby,  How  was  that,  brother  ?  for  I 
would  with  to  know  all  the  abfurdities  that  we 
have  broached  on  this  fubjecl:. 

Air.  Glanville.  Although  Copernicus,  while  he 
reftored  the  fyftem  of  Pythagoras,  which  I  have 
juft  now  explained  to  you,  at  the  fame  time  made 
ufe  of  it  to  lay  open  the  infurmountable  difficul- 
ties of  that  which  he  overturned,  yet  Tycho 
Brahe,  the  greater!  agronomical  obferver,  of  his 
age,  perfifted  to  fupport  the  earth  in  her  claim  to 
the  poft  of  honor. 

Airs.  Crofby.  This  was  then  no  more  than 
Ptolemy's  principles,  revived. 

Mr,  Glanville.  There  was  a  difference.  He 
did  make  all  the  planets  now  turn  about  the 
earth,  (he  had  only  the  moon  left  her.  The  fun, 
talcing  the  reft  in  his  train,  moved  round  her  in 
the  courfe  of  a  year ;  which,  however,  did  not 
hinder  him,  together  with  the  whole  affemblage 
of  the  flars,  from  repsatiog  the  fame  mark  of 
refpecl  to  her  once  in  every  twenty-four  hours. 

Airs.  Crcjly.  I  do  not  fee  what  is  gained  by 
tills  change.  I  think  it  ftill  ridiculous,  that  fo 
many  immenfe  bodies  mould  be  obliged  to  run 
fo  faft  round  us,  who  are  fo  fmall. 

Air.  Glanville.  You  have  juft  hit  upon  the 
abfurdity  of  the  fyflern.  However,  as  it  is  very 
ingenious  in  every  other  particular,  and  was  for- 
tified by  the  great  name  of  i^s  founder,  perhaps  it 

would 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        89 

would  have  ftill  prevailed,  unlefs  Galileo,  witli 
the  affiftance  of  the  telefcope,  had  confirmed  the 
real  order  of  the  univerfe,  as  difcovered  by  Py- 
thagoras and  Copernicus  ;  unlefs  Kepler,  by  a 
ftroke  of  fortunate  fagacity,  had  hit  upon  the 
laws  which  govern  it  -,  and  unlefs  Newton,  our 
countryman,  had  demonftrated  them  with  all  the 
force  of  genius  and  truth. 

Mrs.  Crofby.  Thank  Heaven,  the  fun  is  fixed 
at  laft  in  his  refting  place,  in  the  centre  of  our 
world  !  I  can  now,  with  fafety  of  cojifcienee, 
begin  my  reform. 

Mr.  Glanville.  What,  fifter,  have  you  feme 
new  plan  to  propofe  ? 

Mrs.  Crofby.  No,  brother,  I  am  very  well  fa- 
tisfied  with  your  arrangement  3  it  feems  agreea- 
ble to  the  wifdom  of  nature.  I  am  only  out  of 
humor  with  that  yellow-haired  gentleman,  Phoe- 
bus, who  has  deceived  poor  mortals  fo  fcurvilj . 
Mr.  Glanville.  And  what  moves  your  pretty 
rage  againft  him  ? 

Mrs.  Crofby,  How  !  for  three  thoufand  years 
here  have  we  fed  his  courfers  with  ambroiia,  for 
which  they  have  done  nothing  but  puff  over  it, 
and  grow  fat  in  his  itables. 

George.  Yes,  aunt,  fince  he  no  longer  drives 
the  chariot  of  light,  let  us  difcharge  this  fezy 
coachman,  and  fell  off  his  ftud. 

Emily.  I  would  not  allow  him  fo  much  as 
one  horfe  chaife. 

Mrs.  Crofiy.  Nay,  but  if  we  deprive  him  of 
hts  name,  what  other  (hall  we  give  him  ? 

Mr.  Glanville.     There  is  one  more  worthy  of 

him;  the  greateft  that  is  borne  by  any  of  the 

H  3  worlds. 


90        SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

worlds.  Conquerors  have  given  their  names  to 
the  empires  of  the  earth  ;  aftronomers  have  di- 
vided our  fatellite  *  among  themfelves  ;  our 
countryman  deferves  a  luminary  to  himfelf  a- 
lone  ;  the  whole  fun,  therefore,  1  would  call 
NEWTON. 

George.     Oh  !  papa,  when  mall  I  be  acquaint- 
ed with  the  works  of  that  great  man  r 

Mrs.  Crofby.    If  your  admiration  of  him  grows 
up  with  you,  it  will  rife  to  enthuliafm. 

Mr.  Glanville.  1  mutt  confefs,  I  felt  that  paf- 
fion,  in  fome  degree,  lad:  year,  when  1  went  to  fee 
his  ftatue  at  Cambridge.  Roubilliacv  a  French 
fculptor,  has  reprefented  him  in  an  erect  attitude, 
]ooking  at  the  fun*  and  fhewing  him,  with  one 
hand,  a  prifm,  which  he  holds  in  the  other,  to 
decompofe  his  rays.  While  I  was  lifted  up  inv 
thought,  to  the  vail  height  to  which  he  has  raifed 
human  knowledge,  I  imagined  Nature  as  (lie- 
formed  him,  to  addrefs  him  thus.  "  Though 
man  has  itndied  my  laws  for  fo  many  ages,  he 
has  mil  mifconceived  them  ;  it  is  time  now  to 
reveal  them  to  him.  Thou  art  born  to  publifli 
them  upon  earth  ;  go  then,  renew  aitronomy,  en- 
large geometry,  and  lay  the  bafis  of  natural  phi- 
lofophy.  I  aiiign  thee  thefe  fciences,  at  the  fame 
time,  with  the  genius  that  attends  thy  birth. 
Thou  (halt  tell  the  extent  of  the  univerfe,   and 

the 


*    Riccioli,  an  Italian  dftronomer,  has  given  to  the* 
principal  fpits  of  the  moon,  the  names  of  aftronomers 
and  learned  men,  as  Plato,  Ariftotle,  Archimedes,  Pli- 
Tycho,  Kepler,  Galileo,  &c. 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD,        91 

the  fimpliciiy  of  the  order  that  governs  it.  Thou 
(halt  weigh  the  rnafs  of  thofe  immenfe  bodies 
which  I  have  fcattered  through  it  ;  thou  (halt 
point  out  their  form,  determine  their  revoluti- 
ons, and  meafure  their  diftances  \  thou  fhalt  re- 
duce to  precife  calculation,  even  the  inequalities 
of  their  movements.  In  the  midft  of  them, 
thou  fhalt  fix  the  fun,  and  fhalt  fay  by  what 
power  he  rules  them,  and  how  he  diftributes  to 
them  light  and  activity.  For  thy  reward,  I  will 
place  thee  thyfelf,  as  a  new  luminary,  in  the 
midft  of  all  the  great  men  who  are  to  follow 
thee.  Whilft  thou  giveft  a  rapid  impulfe  to  their 
genius,  thou  fhalt  make  it  inceflantly  tend  to- 
wards thine  own  -3  and  they  (hall  move  round 
thee  with  refpedt,  in  order  to  receive  light  from 
thee.  As  for  thofe  who  would  depart  from  it, 
like  rebellious  comets,  that  to  fhrink  from  the 
empire  of  the  fun,  lofe  themfelves  for  ages  in  the 
viewlefs  depth-of  fpace,  but  which  he  conftanily 
brings  back  to  the  foot  of  his  throne,  fo  they, 
from  the  darknefs  of  their  errors,  (hall  be  forced 
to  return  to  thee  ;  nor  mall  they  fhine  in  any 
part  of  their  courfe,  even  with  tranfient  light, 
lave  when  at  your  approach,  they  are  enveloped 
in  the  fplendor  of  your  rays." 

Here  the  fervant  came  to  inform  Mrs.Crofby, 
that  fupper  was  ferved  up.  Emily  and  George 
would  have  been  glad  it  were  kept  back,  that  they 
might  Mill  liflen  to  Mr.  Gianville.  For  their 
fatisfacl:ion,  he  was  obliged  to  promife,  that  after 
fupper,  he  would  take  another  turn  in  the  garden, 
and  that  they  fhould  be  of  the  party. 

'    SECOND 


92        SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

SECOND  CONVERSATION. 

An  agreeable  chearfulnefs  reigned  during  the 
time  of  fupper.      Mr.   GJanville  and  his  fifter 
were  delighted  with  the   readinefs  of  apprehen- 
fion,  and  fondnefs  for  inftruclion,  which   their 
children  had  difcovered.  Theyfmiled,  tocbferve 
the  difpatch  that  Emily  and  George  made  of  their 
fupper,  who  fpoke  not  a  word  the  whole  time, 
fo  eager  were  they  to  return  to  the  terrace,  and 
refume  the  fubjecT:  of  their  converfation.     Our 
little  philofophers  had  already  finifhed  their  re- 
paft,  and  began  to  fret  upon  their  feats  with  im- 
patience, which  Mrs.   Crofby,  who  obferved  if, 
probably  took,  a  pleafure  to  prolong.     Be  lhat  as 
it  may,  Emily,  in  order  to  lofe  no  time,  began 
to  joke  upon  George's  romantic  pride,  in  wifh- 
ing  to  be  vifible  to  the  ftars.      George  bore  this 
pleafantry  with  a  good  grace,  until  he  faw  his 
father  and  aunt  (whom  he  had  been  watching 
for  fome  time)  rinifh  their  fupper  ;   then  turning 
(hortto  Emily,  "  coufin,"  faid  he,  loud  enough 
to  draw  the  general  attention,    "  I  was  reading 
the  other  day  a  ftory  which,  I  dare  fay,  my  papa 
knows,  and   your   mamma  too,    but   which,  I 
dare  fay,  you  do  not.      I  will   tell  it  to   you. 
Mahomet  had  once  a  mind  to  give  his  army  a 
proof  of  the  power  which  he  exercifed  over  na- 
ture,  and   promifed    to   perform    a   very   great 
miracle  in  their  prefence.    This  was  no  lefs  than 
to  make  a  pretty  high  mountain  move  and  come 
to  him,  from  a  confiderable  distance.     One  fine 
morning,  therefore,  he  aflembles  all  his  foldiers, 
who  already  gave  their  great  prophet  credit  for 

the 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        93 

the  performance  of  fomething  prodigious,  and 
placing  himfelf  at  their  head,  he  orders  the  moun- 
tain-to  approach.  The  mountain  turns  a  deaf 
ear  to  his  word  of  command.  Mahomet  is  fur- 
prized.  He  calls  it  a  fecond  time,  with  a  voice 
more  terrible  than  at  firit.  The  mountain,  as 
you  may  imagine,  did  not  ftir  the  more  for  this 
fummons.  How  is  this  !  cried  the  impoftor, 
with  an  air  of  infpiration,  the  mountain  will  not 
walk  to  us  )  Well  then,  my  friends,  let  us  walk 
to  the  mountain. — I  have  no  more  ill-nature  in 
me,  than  Mahomet  ;  if  the  liars  do  not  lee  us, 
why  then,,  coufin,  let  us  go  fee  the  ftars. 

At  thefe  words  he  rofe  brifkly  from  table,  and 
bounced  towards  the  door,  leaving  Emily  a  good 
deal  furprized  at  this  conclufion.  Mr.  Glan- 
ville  and  Mrs.  Croiby  fmiied  at  his  ready  turn, 
and  followed  him  into  the  garden. 

It  was  a  moft  beautiful  clear  night  j  not  a 
cloud  intercepted  %he  fight  of  the  iky.  The 
moon  which  had  now  begun  to  appear  above  the 
horizon,  flittered  thofe  Mars  which  fhe  had  juft 
before  obfcured,  to  refume  their  luftre,  as  the 
gradually  withdrew  from  them.  The  children 
had  often  admired  the  grandeur  of  this  fight,  but 
now,  when  their  curiofity  'upon  the  fuhjtct  was 
going  tc  be  fatisned,  they  beheld  it  with  addi'.io- 
ml  rapture.  The  bright  ftar  of  Sirius  was  the 
firft  that  attracted  George's  notice.  He  wlflhed 
to  knew  its  name  ;  and  when  lie  had  heard  it,  I 
like  Sirius,  papa,  cried  he,  for  it  is  thelargeftof 
any  of  the  ftar-s. 

Emily.       I  like  it  too,  for  being  the  hrightefh 

Mr.   Qlanvtfk*       Perhaps,  Riy  dear  children, 

it 


94        SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

it  is  in  fac*/  no  larger  nor  brighter  than  the  reft, 
but  then  it  is  nearer  the  earth.  If  it  were 
brought  to  the  distance  cf  the  fun,  it  would  un- 
doubtedly appear  at  large  as  he  docs.  l,ndeed,  if 
we  confider  that.it  is  200,000  times  farther  OH, 
we  muft  be  aftonifhed  that  it  is  fo  vifible. 

George,  You  talk  very  eafy  about  it,  papa  j 
200/00  times  farther  off  than,  the  fun  !  How 
can  any  body  tell  that  ? 

Mr.  Glanvillc.  I  will  not  deny  that  all  the  at- 
tempts of  aftronomers  to  meafure  the  magnitudes 
of  itars,  and  by  means  of  them  their  diftances, 
have  been  ineffectual.  But  this  very  impoffibi- 
Jity  is  fufficient  to  prove,  at  leaft,  that  the  diftance 
is  prodigious  ;  for  the  magnitudes  of  the  plaoets 
have  been  determined  with  fufficient  accuracy, 
ever,  the  moftdiftant  ones,  and  among  the  reft, 
this  handfome  planet,  Jupiter. 

George.  Hah  !  is  that  Jupiter?  and  yet,  pa- 
pa, Sirius  appears  larger  to  the  naked  eye.  If 
they  have  been  able  to  meafure  the  fize  of  Jupi- 
ter, why  can  they  not  that  of  Sirius  ? 

Mr.  Glanv.-le.  Before  I  an-fwer  you,  pray  look 
from  this  f'pot  at  the  taper  that  you  fee  burning 
in  the  back  parlor,  as  the  window  ftands  open  ; 
do  not  you  obferve  a  circle  of  light  round  it, 
ihat  makes  it  appear  larger? 

George.     Yes,  papa,  it  is  very  true. 

Emily.  Juft  like  the  fun,  which  appears  lar- 
ger by  the  whole  crown  of  rays  that  encircles  it. 

Mr.  Glanviilc.  Well,  then^  the  ftars  being  lu- 
minous of  themfelves,  like  the  fun  and  the  ta- 
per, have  alio  that  fame  irradiation,  which  makes 
them  appear  much  larger  than  they  otherwife 

would : 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD,        95 

would  :  infomuch,  that  their  apparent  bulk  is 
fuppofed  to  be  magnified  nine  hundred  times,  by 
this  caufe. 

George.     Oho  ! 

Mr.  Glanville.  Now  tell  me :  When  the 
moon  is  in  the  full,  and,  confequently,  mines 
brighteft,  have  you  ever  remarked  the  fame  ra- 
diance round  her  ? 

Emily.  No,  never ;  her  light  is  bounded  by 
the  circle  that  forms  her  face. 

George.  One  may  remark  the  fame  in  Jupi- 
ter. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Whence  mould  this  difference 
grife  ? 

George.  I  fuppofe,  as  Jupiter  and  the  moon 
only  retlecT:  a  borrowed  light,  this  light  cannot 
have  the  fame  force  of  motion  as  when  it  comes 
from  bodies  that  fhine  of  themfelves. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Surprizingly  well  explained  : 
and  thus  it  is,  that  Jupiter's  difk  does  not  appear 
magnified  ;  and  fmall  as  his  diftance  (hews  him, 
a/bronomers  have  inftruments  of  fufneient  pre- 
cifion  to  meafure  him.  But  the  liars,  with  that 
dazzling  radiance  that  furrounds  them. — 

George.  Could  not  means  be  found  to  ftrip 
them  of  it,  fo  as  to  fee  them  in  their  real  bulk  ? 

Mr.  Glanville.  It  is  exactly  the  effect  whick 
a  telefcope  produces,  by  uniting  and  concentra- 
ting all  their  rays  into  a  point.  But  then  that 
point  is  fo  fmall ;  and  the  more  perfect  the  te- 
lefcope is,  the  more  this  point,  while  it  grows 
brighter,  becomes  alfo  fmaller,  until,  at  lift,  it 
eludes  all  meafure,     ' 

Mrs. 


96         SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

Mrs.  Cro/ty,  Well,  but  how  have  they  been 
able  to  compare  the  fun's  distance  with  thofe  of 
the  ftars  ? 

Mr.  Glanville,  By  a  very  Ingenious  method. 
The  magnitude  and  diftance  of  the  fun  is  known 
from  the  Sure  ft  reafoning.  They  have  alfo  cal- 
culated, both  how  much  he  fhould  be  diminished, 
or  how  far  removed,  to  bring  him  down  to  the 
Size  of  Sirius.  From  thefe  calculations,  we  ne- 
cefTarily  infer  the  prodigious  diftance  of  this  ftar, 
which  is,  nevertheless,  the  neareft  to  us  of  any. 
Moil  aftronomers  even  judge  this  diftance  to  be 
more  confulerable,  becaufe  it  is  to  be  doubted, 
whether  the  beft  telefcope  can  totally  diveft  a  liar 
of  its  Superfluous  light,  and  make  it  prelerve,  to 
our  view,  the  "fize  which  it  mould,  at  that  dif- 
tance. 

George.  Oh  !  Since  the  ftars  are  So  far  off,  I 
can  eafily  believe,  as  we  have  been  told,  that  they 
are  real  funs.  If  they  polTeffed  only  a  borrowed 
light,  how  could  their  rays  reach,  even  to  us,  with 
fuch  a  lively  brightnefs,  after  having  paSTed 
through  immenfe  Space? 

Mr.  GlanvlUe.  Very  well,  my  boy,  your  ob- 
servation is  quite  juft.  It  has  been  demonftrated, 
that  the  light  of  a  ftar  might  be  diminished  ma- 
ny millions  of  times,  by  removing  it  farther  from 
our  Sight,  and  yet  it  mould  ftiil  appear  no  Sainter 
than  a  piece  of  white  paper  by  moonlight. 

George.  If  fome  of  the  ftars,  then,  appear  fo 
Small,  it  is  becaufe  they  are  ftill  farther  from  us 
than  Sirius. 

Mr. 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        }'; 

Mr.  Glanville.  Perhaps  there  is  as  great  an 
Interval  of  fpace  between  them,  as  even  between 
birius  and  the  fun. 

George.   (jurprizeJ.)     Oh,  Papa  ! 

Emily.  And  yet  they  feem  placed  one  hefide 
the  other.  Nay,  there  are  fome  that  one  woukl 
take  tq  be  double. 

Mr.  Glanville,  I  can  anfwer  you  both  at  once 
by  a  fingle  example,  that  is  familiar  to  you.  No 
doubt  you  have  fometimes  remarked,  from  Black - 
friar's-bridge,  of  an  evening,  the  lamps  on  Lon- 
don-bridge, and  thofe  of  Fleet-market.  You: 
know  the  lamps  are  of  the  fame  fize  in  general  ? 

George,     I  fuppofe  fo. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Weil,  have  not  you  obferved 
that  thofe  of  Fleet-market,  which  were  the  near- 
eft,  appeared  with  a  livelier  and  Wronger  light 
than  thofe  of  London  bridge  ? 

George.     Yes,  I  think  I  have, 

Mr.  Glanville.  Now,  fuppofe  that  between 
any  two  of  the  latter,  you  faw  one  of  the  fame 
iijc  at  Tower-flairs,  which5  confequently,  would 
be  about  twice  as  far  off,  You  remember  what 
-tve  faid  before  fupper,  that  objects,  at  a  certain, 
degree  of  remotenefs,  appear  equally  dlftant  from 
the  eye,  though  they  may  be  much  farther  off 
fome  than  others. 

George.     Yes>  we  have  not  forgot  it, 

Mr.  Glanville.  You  underftand  then,  my 
dear,  that  the  lamp  at  the  Tower- ftair§,  would 
appear  ranged  in  the  fame  circular  line  with  thofe 
of  London-bridge,  and  that  you  can  judge  it  to 
be  farther  off  no  otherwife  than  by  the  fmallnefs 
gf  its  flame,  and  the  weaknefs  of  its  ra,vs. 

I  Emily. 


98         SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

Emily.  You  are  right,  uncle  ;  .this  agrees  ex- 
actly with  the  large  and  fmall  flars.  1  under- 
l  now,  very  well,  that  one  may  be  at  a  great 
diftance  behind  the  other,  and,  for  all  that,  ap- 
pear to  us  in  the  fame  line,  but  fome  larger  and 
brighter,  others  (mailer,  and  of  dimmer  light. 
Do  you  comprehend  that,  George  ? 

George,  (zuitb  an  air  of  importance.)  Yes,  I 
think  I  do,  and  I  have  a  companion  too,  which, 
though  I  fay  it.  is  ten  million  times  better  than 
my  papa's. 

Emily.  That  is  mo  cleft  enough. 
George.  And  fo  it  is  ;  for  it  will  ferve  for  our 
whole  globe,  while  his  ftands  good  only  for  a  lit- 
tle way  down  the  river.  But  there  is  a  rcafon 
why  mine  is.  beft  :  I  do  not  take  it  from  the 
earth. 

Emily.  Nay,  that  would  be  too  low  for  fo 
lofty  a  genius  as  yours.  But  is  this  celeftial 
companion  within  our  comprehenfion  ? 

Qeorge.  I  will  try  and  bring  it  down  to  your 
level.  Thofe  ftars  that  are  about  Jupiter,  would 
not  one  fuppofe  them  as  near  to  us  as  he  is  him- 
felf?  If  the  moon  was  now  on  the  fame  iide, 
would  not  one  think.  Jupiter  as  near  as  the  moon? 
And  if  there  was  a  cloud  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  moon,  would  not  one  think  her  alfo  as 
near  to  us  as  the  cloud  ?  The  cloud,  the  moon, 
Jupiter,  and  the  ftars,  would  then  appear  all  in 
the  fame  arch,  as  it  were.  Now,  do  you  know, 
cor  fin,  that  their  diftonces  are  very  different  ? 

Emily.  Yes  ;'  fo  well,  that  I  can  tell  you  too, 
that  the  very  largeft  cloud  would  not  be  vifible 
at   the  diftance  of  the  moon,   that   trie   moon 

.  would 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        9; 

vvould  not  be  vifible  at  the  diftance  of  Jupiter, - 
and  that  Jupiter  would  be  ftill  lefs  vifible  at  the 
diftance  of  the  ftars. 

Mr.  Glanville.  This  is  well,  my  little  friends. 
I  like  this  repartee.  Luckily,  thole  laft  words  of 
Emi!y,  bring  us  back  to  what  we  were  juft  now 
mentioning,  that  the  ftars  mud  needs  fhine  with 
their  own  light,  and  that  this  light  mud  ne^ds 
be  very  ftrong,  to  reach  us  from  a  diftance  at 
which  Jupiter  would  have  ceafed  one  thoufand 
times  to  be  vifible. 

George,  Yes,  I  fee  ;  I  have  no  doubt  about 
it  now  ;  they  are  real  funs. 

Mr.  Glanville.  That  isiiiy  opinion  too  ;  but 
do  you  fuppoie  thefe  funs  to  be  made  for  the 
earth  ? 

Emily.  Of  what  feivice  could  they  be  to 
her  ?  if  we  depended  upon  them  to  ripen  the 
corn,  it  would  be  long  before  the  country  folks 
could  fmg  harveft  home. 

George,  They  have  nothing  that  can  be  of 
ufe  to  us,  but  their  dim  light.  And  even  the 
moon  trom  behind  a  cloud,  hardly  gives  a  hun- 
dred times  more. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Befides,  you  know,  there  are 
fome  (tars  which  cannot  be  difcerned,  without  a 
telefcope  ;  and  thofe  we  may  fet  down  as  ulelcfs, 
in  every  refpecr.  In  the  fame  manner*  therefore, 
if  thefe  funs  were  made  for  us,  they  would  cer- 
tainly ha\Te  been  placed  as  near  to  the  earth  as 
our  own  fun  is. 

George.     Oh!  thank  ye,    papa,    we   have  e~ 

nough  already  in  one.     Belldes,  then,  my  little 

coufin's  fine  lily  complexion  would  be/;  tanned. 

I  2  The 


ieo        SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD; 

The  browneft  fibber    in  our  nut-grove  would* 
then  he  fair  to  my  poor  Emily. 

Er.vly.  And  thofe  fine  young  gentlemen  that 
I  have  ibmewhere  feen  with  a  parafol,  in  bright 
weather,  how  many  hands,  and  how  many  large 
rounr.  hats  mould  they  have  to  made  themfelves 

Mr.  G  But  if  all  thefe  funs>,  at  their 

prefent  diftance,  can  neither  give  us   heat  nor 
it,  if  when  placed  nearer  to  us,  they  would 
only  k-rve,  according  to  your  filly  notions,  to  tan 
the  c\>:vsp"exion  of  the  ladies,   or  incommode  the 
.  y  jafirnines  of  the  day  ;    and,  according  to 
my  more  icnous  fears*,  to  fcorch  the  earth  up  in 
it  :  if,  with  the  good  leave  of  fome  phi- 
Jofophers,  tuey  are  not  made  merely  to  amufe 
Mid  gratify  our  (ights,   are  we  to  fuppofe   them 
icattered  with  fuch  magnificent  profusion  through 
the  univerfe,  for  no  purpofe  whatfoever  ? 
Emily.     That  is  exactly  what  puzzles  me. 
G  i  or  re.     Let  us  confider  this  a  little  ;  fince 
the  fun  is  intended  to  furnifh  light  and  heat  to 
the  planets,  why  then,  if  the  ftars  are  funs,  they 
irjuft  alfo  have  planets  which  they  warm  and  en- 
lighten. 

Mr.  Glanv'ilh.  This  is  fomething  like  philo- 
fophy. 

George,  [archly.)  Do  you  fee  that,  coufin  ? 
But,  papa,  mutt  we  allow  planets  to  all  thefe 
funs  ? 

'- ,  GlavvUh.  If  fuch  be  the  defhnation  of 
fach  of  them  in  particular,  you  are  fenfible  that 
^  nauft  be  the  bufmefb  of  them  all  in  general. 

George, 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        101 

George.  Certainly.  What  fhould  we  do 
with  them,  if  they  were  good  for  nothing  ?  It 
would  be  the  fame  as  if  government  fhould  or- 
der fires  to  be  made  in  a  hard  winter,  2nd  forbid 
people  to  approach  them. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Or  lamps  to  be  placed  in  a 
ftreet  where  nobody  mull:  pais,  and  only  to  make 
a  diftant  illumination  for  thofe  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

George.  Come,  papa,  things  mud:  be  done  in 
order.  No  fun  without  planet^  but  upon  con- 
dition, however,  that  there  be  no  planets  with- 
out a  fun. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Do  not  be  uneafy,  my  deaf, 
if  the  wifdom  of  the  Creator  has  not  made  a 
Tingle  fun  ufelefs. — 

Emily.  Yes,  I  underftand  ;  his  goodnefs  will 
not  leave  a  ilngle  planet  unhappy.  Now  I  am 
eafy. 

George.  So  am  L  I  fee  that  every  thing  is 
well  difpofed.  Our  fun  has  planets  which  move 
round  him,  whilft,  at  the  fame  time,  they  have 
their  fatellites  moving  round  them.  Well,  if 
my  friend  Sirius  is  a  fun,  he  has  planets,  accom- 
panied by  their  fatellites,  moving  round  him, and 
every  other  fun  will  have  the  fame. 

Emily.  I  (hall  not  afk  you  why  we  fee  the 
funs,  and  not  the  planets.  I  remember  ihe  houfe 
and  the  candle  itill. 

George,  Your  memory  is  very  convenient  to 
me.  Now  I  am  revenged  a  little  :  if  we  are  in- 
vifible  to  them,  we  won't  do  them  the  honor  to 
look  at  them.  Very  well,  Gentlemen,  do  not 
take  eff  your  hats,  1  have  no  bow  to  make  you. 
I  3  Mu 


soa       SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD, 

Mr.  GhnvlUe.  I  did  not  think  that  you  flood 
fo  much  upon  ceremony. 

Emily,  {curtfying.)  Oh,  I  fhall  not  grudge  a 
curtfy,  or  fo. 

George.  What  are  you  doing,  coufin  ?  they 
mould  make  us  the  nrft,  for  having  fettled  them 
fo  well. 

Mr.  Glanvllle.  Right.  It  required  fome  im- 
agination on  our  parts  to  conceive,  that  theie? 
funs,"  which  fcem  to  us  to  be  fo  near  each  other, 
are,  neverth-elefs,  prodigioufly  diftant  one  from' 
the  other.  Their  worlds  mult  not  be  crowded. 
Ycu  can  imagine  what  fpace  is  required  for  the 
extenfi  ve  movements  of  a  folar  fyftem. 

Gesrge,  VvTe  can  eafily  judge  of  it  by  our 
own. 

Mr,  Glanv'uk.  It  is  the  beft  comparifon  pof- 
iible.  But  can  you  conceive  its  extent  ?  Does 
not  the  idea  terrify  you  ? 

George.     Me,  papa  ?  Oh,  no.   Since  you  have 

told  me  of  the  infinite  diftance  of  the  ftars,   I 

am  no  more  afraid  to  go  to  the  fartheft  part  of 

empire  of  the  fun,  than  Captain  Cook,  after  his 

je  round  the  world,  would  have  been  to  go 

failing-boat  up  to  Richmond. 

tvifle'i     I  fear  Emily  would  not  travel 
Id! :. 
George.     Oh,   my  coufin   is  too  fond  of  the 
.  fj  truft  herfelf  far  off  in  the  ikies. 

Aye,   coufin  ?    Have  not    I   read,  as 

well   as   you,   that  the  Georgium  Sidus  is  one 

'  ad   nine   hundred  and  fifty   millions   of 

miles 


SYSTEM  OF 'THE  WORLD,       103 

miles  from  the  fun  ?  'Tis  true,  indeed^  it  is  the 
outermoft. 

George.  Ah !  you  are  but  a  poor  traveller,, 
coufin,  if  you  halt  there.  I  cars  (hew  you  far- 
ther afield. 

Emily,     How  fo,  pray,  Sir  f 

George.  Have  not  Jupiter  and  Saturn  attend 
dant  planets  or  moons,  which  reflect  to  them  the 
borrowed  light  of  the  fun,  and  fo  affift  his  feeble 
rays  to  illuminate  them  ?  The  Georgium  Sidus 
is  a  good  deal  farther  off  than  any  of  them  ;  it 
is  therefore  likely,  that  he  alfo  has  fateilites3 
which  we  do  not  know  yet,  and,  perhaps,  more 
of  them  :  And  when  the  outermoft  of  thefe  fa- 
tellites  is  beyond  its  planet,  is  it  not  much  far- 
ther removed  from  us  ?  I  think,  for  once,  [  am 
at  the  extremity  of  our  fyftem. 

Mr*  Glanville.  Alas,  my  dear  friend,  I  am 
forry  to  cut  ihorf  your  triumph,  but  you  are  very 
far  from  it,  ftill. 

George.  What  do  you  fee  thens  beyond  my 
prefent  ftation  r 

Mr.  Glanville.  Other  planets,  perhaps,  un* 
known  to  us.  But  we  will  fpeak  only  of  what 
has  been  difcovered. 

Gnrge.     Come,  then,  pray  let  us  fee, 

Mr.  Glanville.  Have  you  forgot  the  comets^ 
which  are  feveral  ages  revolving  round  the  fun  I 

George.     Indoedj  I  had  quite  forgot  them. 

Mr,  Glanville.  I  will  not  mention  that  of 
5769,  the  period  of  whofe  revolution  has  beepi 
fixed  at  about  five  hundred  years,  nor  yet  that  of 
1680,  which  is  fuppoied  to  be  five  hundred  and 
Seventy-five  years  in  performing  its  orbit,      We 

will 


104       SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLff. 

will  only  fpeak  of  the  comet  that  W2s  firft  ob^ 
ferved  in  1264,  re-appeared  iri  1556,  and  is  ex- 
pected again  in  1848,  whofe  periodical  time  i?, 
confequently,  two  hundred  and  ninety-two  years. 

George,     And  enough  too,  in  conscience. 

Mr.  GlanviUe.  From  the  point  where  it  is 
rfeareft  to  the  fun  in  each  of  thefe  revolutions, 
let  us  fuppofe  it  to  fet  off  on  its  journey  of  near 
three  centuries,  and  let  us  divide  its  period  equal- 
ly, one  half  for  its  departure,  and  the  other  for 
its  return,  Here,  you  fee,  is  near  a  ceittury  and 
a  half  that  this  comet  takes  up  in  moving  away 
from  the  fun. 

George,  Oh,  it  is  plain,  fine'e  the  Georgium 
Sidus  is  onty  eighty-two  years  in  performing  its 
orbit,  the  difference  mull  be  great. 

Mr.  Glanviile,  More  ftill  than  ycu  think ; 
for  the  comets  do  not  move  like  the  planets  in  an 
ellipfe  that  differs  little  from  a  perfect  circle,  by 
which  means  they  would  be  always  nearly  at  an 
e  iual  diftance  from  the  furr.  They  defcribe  an 
ellipfe  exceffively  oblong,  and  fo  increafe  their 
diftance  continually,  until  they  arrive  at  that 
point  of  thmr  orbit  from  which  the  fun  forces 
them  to  return  by  the  oppoiite  fide;  but  when 
arrived  at  this  fo  diftant  point,  where,  neverthe- 
iefs,  they  yield  to  the  force  by  which  the  fun 
continually  attracts  then,  they  mult  be  frill  1 
good  deal  farther  from  the  funs  of  the  neighbor- 
ing fyftems,  orhcrwile  the  neareft  one  would 
force  them  to  enter  within  its  dominions  :  at 
this  diftance, .  therefore,  which  our  comet  takes 
nearly  a  century  and  a  half  to  meafure,  it  muft 
Ail!  leave  beyond  it,  an  iirimenfc  fpice  urtoccupi- 

C6y 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD/       105 

ed,  by  way  of  frontier  between  its  own  and  the 
neareft  fyftem  to  it  on  that  fide.  Apply  this  cal- 
culation to  the  other  worlds,  and  conceive,  if  you 
can,  how  immenfe  each  of  them  muft  be  ! 

Mrs.  Crofby.  But  do  you  think  them  all,  bro- 
ther, as  large  as  ours  ? 

Mr.  Ghnville.  Reccllecl  your  philofophy  a 
little,  (liter.  What  pretentions  can  man  have  to 
fuppofe  the  empire  of  his  fun  the  moft  extenfive, 
while  he  inhabits  himfelf  but  one  of  the  fmalleft 
provinces  of  it  ?  The  reafoning  of  his  pride  is 
particular  enough :  as  long  as  he  thought  all  the 
heavenly  bodies  formed  for  him  alone,  he  fought,, 
from  age  to  age,  to  enlarge  them:  now  when 
agronomy  demonftrates  that  they  have- another 
ufe,  he  aims  at  contracting  their  extent;    - 

Airs.  Crofhy.     I  can  oppofe  nothing"  ro  your 
argument  3  but  this  immeniity 'dazzles  me,  and/ 
perhaps,  you  are  going  to  confound  me  Hill  more. 
What  do  you  fupnofe  to  be  the  number  of  the* 
ftars-  ? 

Mr.  Glmvodle,  The  rnoft  minute  and  accu- 
rate obfervat-Lons  have  enumerated  fomething 
more  than  three  thoufand  in  our  hemifphere,  and 
ten  thoufandin  the  fouthern. 

Mrs.  Crofbf,  Heavens  \  Thirteen  thoufand 
funs  !  Thirteen  thoufand  worlds  in  the  univerfe  f 

Mr.  Ghnville.  And  then  the  (tars,  which  can 
fcarcely  be  diftinguifned  with  a  telefcope  !  Thofe 
which  thar  inurnment  would  enable  us  to  disco- 
ver, were  it  ftiil  further  improved !  The  thou- 
fands  which  form  tliofe  little  clouds  that  you  can 
fee  with  the  naked  eye,  and  which  are  therefore 
Mkd  nebulous  ftars  5  and-thofe  others,  forming 

clouds. 


ic6       SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

clouds,  which  cannot  be  feen,  without  an  inrtru- 
ment !  The  millions  that  are  contained  in  the 
milky  way!  the  very  idea  of  their  number  is 
fufficier.t  to  terrify  :he  imagination.  At  the 
fight  of  a  high  mountain,  a  man  feels  himfelf 
particularly  affected  :  he  (hudders,  when  he  re- 
flects on  the  valt  extent  of  the  eartJi  :  the  ocean 
and  its  unfathomable  depths,  make  his  blood  run- 
cold  •  and  yet  what  is  this  v*hole  globe,  compa- 
red to  the  burning  mafs  of  the  fun,  which  is  one 
million  four  hundred  thou  (and  times  larger?  and 
the  fpace  occupied  by  this  luminary,  immenfe  as 
it  is,  what  will  it  be  found,  on  comparifon  with 
that  fpace  in  which  the  bodies  move,  that  are 
iubjecl  to  its  adtion  ?  Rut  while  he  makes  the 
planets,  lurrounded  by  their  fatellites,  move 
round  him,  what  would  you  fay,  if  he,  as  well  as 
other  funs,  followed  like  him,  by  their  retinue, 
moved  round  fome  ether  body  (till  more  power- 
ful than  all  of  them  at  once. 

Mrs.  Crofiy.  What,  brother,  our  fun  and 
thofe  of  all  the  other  worlds,  to  be  no  more  than 
planets  wandering  through  the  fkies  !  I  fear  your 
imagination  is  the  only  thing  that  moves,  of  all* 
this  fyitem  ? 

AL .  G'.dr.viHe.  And  what  would  you  fay  if 
this  conjecture,  advanced  by  Halley,  and  fupport- 
ed  by  Mr.  Lambert,  one-  of  the  greateft  geome- 
tricians of  this  age,  was  become  the  opinion  of 
the  moil  diftinguifhed  aftronomers  at  prefent, 
fuch  as  Mcif.  Bailly  and  Delalande,  and  that  wife» 
profound,  and  religious  o.bferver  of  nature,  Mr. 
3 o  .une  t  of-  G  eneva  ? 

Mrs. 


•SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.       l<0 

Mrs.  Crojby.  Such  great  names  are  certainly 
enough  to  dazzle  me  :  but  on  what  foundation. 
is  this  opinion  buiK  ? 

Mr.  Glanvllle.  The  motion  of  the  fun  round 
its  axis  would  alone  be  fufHcient  to  render  it 
probable.  Nature  has  impreiTed  this  motion  on 
all  bodies  which  move  in. an  orbit  round  another 
more  powerful,  that  governs  them  ;  thus  the 
fatellites  turn  on  their  axes,  while  they  encircle 
their  proper  planets,  and  the  planets,  v\hilethey 
encircle  *he  fun.  Would  Nature,  ever  uniform 
and  confident  in  its  law,  have  given  the  fun  this 
vertiginous  motion,  if  he  had  no  other  ?  All  the 
planets,  at  the  fame  time  that  they  go  round  him5 
move  thus,  in  order  to  receive  his  warmth  fuc- 
ceflively  in  all  their  parts.  Now,  fmce  he  is 
endowed  with  this  fame  movement,  may  we  not 
fuppofe  him  to  have  the  other  alfc,  and  to  be 
.  carried  round  .a  central  power,  ftill  fuperior  to 
himfelf  ? 

Mrs.  Crojby.  Thefe  conj eftures  appear  natural 
enough,  and,  at  the  fame  time,  important  enough 
to  make  me  wifh  them  fupported  by  fome  ob- 
servation. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Well  then,  to  fatisfy  you  :  the 
•motion  of  three  of  the  largeft  ftars,  Sirius,  Arc- 
turus  and  Aldebaran,  is  acknowledged  ;  it  is 
well  known  thar  Arcturus  moves,  every  year, 
two 'hundred  and  feventy  millions  of  miles  to- 
wards the  fouth  :  fo  prodigious  is  the  diftance 
even  of  thofe  ftars  which  are  neareft  to  the  earth, 
that  their  change  of  place  is  fcarcely  perceptible 
after  feveral  years  :  judge  if  other  ftars,  infinitely 
farther  diftant,  may  not  have  a  movement  full  as 

con- 


ic3       SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD, 

confiderable,  though  not  perceptible  to  us,  until 
.after  whole  centuries  of  obfervation. 

Airs.  Crojby.  Since  the  moving  of  thofe  great 
(tars  is  fo  certain,  I  have  nothing  to  offer  againft 
your  conjecture  :  nay,  I  can  very  well  imagine, 
according  to  your  idea,  that  the  fmallett  may 
move,  without  viiibly  changing  place,  till  after  a 
long  period  of  time,  an  account  of  their  incon- 
ceivable diftance :  but  is  it  not  fufficient,  in  order 
to  fatisfy  you  of  the  immenfity  of  the  univerfe, 
that  certain  ftars  move  in  an  orbit,  of  whofe  ex- 
tent, even  the  imagination  cannot  form  to  itieif 
an  idea  ?  Why  will  you  (till  difturb  the  repofe 
of  otherc  ? 

Mr,  Glanville,  I  fliould  otherwife  impeach 
Nature.  You  have  been  obliged  to  acknow- 
ledge, that  if  the  ftars  are  all  funs,  and  if  one  of 
thefe  funs  has  a  planetary  fyftem,  which  he 
governs,  it  is  agreeable  to  the  wjfdom  of  Nature 
that  all  the  reft  fliould  perform  the  fame  func- 
tions. Now  would  it  not  be  a  ftrange  incon- 
tinence to  give  motion  to  fome  ftars,  whiift  others> 
deftined  to  the  fame  purpofes,  remain  immove- 
able ?  But  take  care,  fifter  ;  that  repofe,  which 
you  would  be  weak  enough  to  allow  thefe  latter, 
itnuft  be  their  inevitable  deftru&ion. 

Mrs.  Crojby.     You  terrify  me.  brother. 

Mr.  Glanville*  In  the  mid.ft  of  all  thefe  funs, 
abfolutely  immoveable,  let  us  fuppofe  but  one 
in  motion  ;  like  a  conqueror  that  marches 
through  his  own  dominions  in  good  order,  while 
lie  advances  to  foreign  devaftation,  fo  he  moves 
peaceably  within  the  bounds  of  his  own  empire  ; 
but  when  once  he  reaches  the  -frontiers  of  the 

neighboring 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.      icq 

neighbouring  fyftem,  behold  him,  as  he  pro- 
ceeds through  it,  fwallow  up  all  the  planets  be- 
longing to  it  in  his  mafs  of  fire  ;  and,  perhaps,, 
attack,  on  his  immoveable  throne,  this  very  km 
whom  he  has  juft  defpoiled  :  from  that  moment: 
the  balance  of  the  univerfal  machine  is  over- 
turned. How. mall  thofe  fyftem s,  which  were 
poifed  by  the  equality  of  their  forces,  refift  the 
ufurper,  ftrengthened  with  the  addition  of  an  in- 
vaded world,  and  pufhed  forward  in  his  courfe 
with  a  ne.w  impetuofity  ?  As  a  fire  attracts  the 
light  ftraw,  he  fees  thofe  worlds,  which  border 
on  his  pafTage,  rufh  in- crouds  into  the  vortex  of 
his  flames  :  thus  he  moves  on,  confuming  as  he 
goes,  and  becomes  the  wandering  fire-brand  of 
general,  conflagration  to  the  univerfe. 

Mrs.  Crafty.  Oh  I  I  befeech  you,  fet  thofe 
funs  in  motion  again,  which  my  foJJy  would  have 
made  to  ftand  ftill,  our  own  efpecially  ;  let  us 
not  fpare  his  going  ;  let  him  flee  from  the  terri- 
ble difafter  to  which  I  expofed  him.  I  am  afraid, 
his  activity  will  be  retarded  by  the  weight  of  his 
vaft  retinue. 

Mr  Ghwville.  Make  yourfelf  csfy,  filter  $  his 
ftrength  is  proportioned  to  the  mafs  of  bodies 
that  he  draws  after  him.  The  earth,  only  fixty 
times  larger  than  the  moon,  can  yet  fway  her 
courfe;  Saturn  carries  his  ring  and  his  Satellites 
along  with  him  ;  nor  is  Jupiter  ever  forfaken  by 
his.  If  thefe  planets,  by  their  governing  mafs, 
compel  the  bodies  in  their  train  to  accompany 
them  as  they  revolve  round  the  fun,  certainly  the 
fun,  with  a  mafs  of  matter  vaftly  more  confider- 
able  than  all  the  comets,  planets  and  their  Satel- 
K  lites 


no        SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

lites  together,  will  be  able  to  take  them  all  with 
him  at  once,  round  whatever  luminary  it  is  that 
governs  him. 

Mrs.  Crojby.  S.o  then  the  matter  of  fo  many 
flaves  is  himfelf  only  a  flave  in  his  turn. 

Mr.  Glanville.  Whatever  motion  you  allow 
him,  it  muft  necefTarily  be  round  a  fuperior  bo- 
dy, the  centre  of  his  orbit,  as  he  is  the 
centre  of  the  orbits  of  all  the  bodies  that 
are  fubjecl:  to  his  fway.  This  is  a  law  which 
Nature  invariably  follows  in  the  fyftem  of  the 
univerfe.  Comets,  whofe  motions,  according  to 
our  ideas,  are  the  mod  irregular,  are  fubjecl  to  it 
in  their  greateft  excentricities  ;  while  they  run 
almoft  in  a  ftraight  line  to  the  extremity,  of  their 
ellipfe,  they  are  continually  defcribing  tlieir  ap- 
pointed orbit  round  the  fun, 

Mrs.  Crojby.  What  then  !  for  every  (u% 
fhould  a  fuperior  body  be  created;  round  which  he 
muft  move  ? 

Mr.  Glanville.  Nature  has  .  more  resources. 
Several  planets,  with  their  fatellites,  move  roumd 
the  fame  fun ;  feveral  funs,  with  their  planets, 
may  move  round  a  fuperior  body  ;  feveral  fupe- 
rior bodies,  with  their  funs,  may  move  round  o- 
ther  bodies  ftill  fuperior  to  them.  This  grada- 
tion of  fyftems  of  fuperior  bodies  continually  in- 
creafmg  in  bulk,  and  decreafing  in  number,  may 
terminate  in  the  central  body  of  the  whole  uni- 
verfe, on  which,  no  doubt,  repofes  the  throne  of 
the  Supreme  Being,  who,  with  one  look,  beholds 
the  whole  of  his  admirable  work. 

Mrs.  Crojby.  But  with  this  inconceivable  mul- 
tiplicity of  movements  and  orbits,  how  will  you 
prevent  diforder?  Mr* 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.        m 

Mr.  Glanville.  As  an  admiral  who  commands 
a  large  fleet,  formed  for  inftance  into  three  fqua- 
drons*,  each  fquadron  conufting  of  feveral  men  of 
war,  a  prodigious  number  of  ffigateSj  and  an  in- 
finity of  merchantmen  ;  fuppofe  him  to  com- 
mand a  general  naval  review  ;  to  order  the  three 
next  in  command  to  fail  round  him  in  a  large 
Circle,  with  their  flags  flying ;  each  of  thefe  to 
give  the  fame  order  to  the  men  of  war  in  his 
fquadron  ;  each  man  of  war  to  a  number  of  fri- 
gates, each  frigate  to  feveral  merchantmen,  and 
each  merchantman  to  its  boat.  They  would 
tzke  up,  indeed,  a  vaft  fpace  to  perform  thefe  e- 
volutions  with  freedom,  and  to  exeoute  them 
"with  rigorous  precilion.  It  would,  no  doubt, 
appear  complicated  enough  to  the  outermoft  vef- 
feis  :  they  would  fee  nothing  but  a  number  of 
confufed  and  irregular  motions  among  all  thefe 
floating  bodies.  Yet  you  fee  that  it  is  extremely 
limple  ;  the  admiral  would  have  occafion  for  on- 
ly one  order,  one  fignal ;  the  boats  would  only 
have  to  fail  at  different  diftances  round  each  of 
the  merchantmen  to  which  they  belonged,  while 
feveral  merchantmen1  would  move  round  each 
frigate,  feveral  frigates  round  each  man  of  war, 
the  men  of  war  round  the  commanders  of  fqua- 
drOns  ;  and  Iallly,  thefe  round  thefe  admiral. 

Mrs.  Crojby.  This  comparifon  fets  before  my 
eyes  the  whole  fyftem  of  the  univerfe.  But 
how  is  it  poffible  to  conceive  this  gradation  of 
bodies,  one  more  powerful  than  another,  of  which 
the  enormous  bulk  of  the  fun  would  make  but 
the  extreme  term  ? 

K  %  Mr* 


U2        SYSTEM  OF  THE   WORLD. 

Mr.  Ghmville.  Has  not  your  imagination  al- 
ready made  .a  bolder  effort,  in  riling  even  to  the 
immenfity  of  the  fun  himielf,  which  is  now  ef- 
tablifhed  beyond  difpute  ?  This  luminary,  which 
the  ancients  thought  to  be  lefs  than  the  moon, 
and  infinitely  imaller  than  the  earth,  could  make 
more  than  fourteen  hundred  thoufand  globes  like 
the  earth,  and  more  than  eighty  millions  of 
moons.  What  progreflion  of  magnitude  can 
now  flop  your  imagination  ?  If  each  new  difco- 
vcry  of  error  enlight.ns  the  underftanding  of 
man  ;  if  each  new  -inftance  of  weaknefs  and  im- 
perfection that  he  difcovers  in  his  organs,  enlar- 
ges' his  genius,  why  mould  he  fear  to  give  a  no- 
bler (cope  to  his  genius  and  underfta-nding  ?  Be- 
fore the  ufe  of  the  microfcope,  did  not  he  fup- 
pofe  animated  nature  to  terminate  at  the  fmalleit 
infect  that  his  eyes  allowed  him  to  difcern  ?  Now 
how  many  millions  of  creatures  does  he  difcover 
dill  more  minute  ?  A  drop  of  prepared  water, 
the  tranfparence  of  which  fcems  not  the  leart  al- 
tered, exhibits  to  him  a  fea  {"warming  with 
whales  :  a  piece  of  mouldy  fruit  prefents  to  his 
view  a  mountain  covered  with  fcrefts,  (like  the 
Apehnine  to  us)  and  towering  to  the  clouds. 
He  foes  thofe  fmall  animals,  of  which  he  was 
far  from  fufpecYmg  even  the  exigence,  devour  o- 
thers  ftill  Imaller  ;  he  Tecs  them  provided  with 
Wtgans  fui  table  to  all  their  wants,  loaded  with 
thoufands  of  eg^s  ready  to  burfl  into  life,  which 
are  to  keep  up  the  prodigious  population  of  the 
fpecies.  If  at  this  fight,  lie  lets  drop  the  micro- 
fcope with  furprize,  let  him  take  up  the  tele/cope, 
zxiA  difcover  for  the  a:  it  time  in  the  fkies,  an  in- 
numerable 


SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD.       113 

Numerable  crowd  of  unknown  ftars,  beyond 
which  lie  an  infinitely  greater  number,  that  he 
never  will  difcover.  On  what  fide  will  he  now 
be  hardy  enough  to  limit  the  creation  ?  If  to  the 
Eternal  Being  time  is  without  end,  why  fhould 
fpace  and  matter  have  bounds  for  the  Almighty  ? 
Is  the  one  lefs  worthy  of  his  glory  than  the  o- 
ther  ?  The  ages  which  our  calculation  can  com- 
prize, are,  perhaps;  to  the  duration  of  eternity, 
no  more  than  the  fpace  occupied  by  the  millions 
of  worlds,  that  we  can  diftinguifh,  are  to  the  ex- 
tent of  infinity, 

Mrs.  Crofhy.     Oh,  brother,1  what  a  fublime  2- 
dea  you  give  me  of  the  Supreme  Being  ! 

Mr.  GlanviUe.     You  have  hitherto  only  ad- 
mired his  power  in  the  number  and  greatnefs  of 
ihofe  prodigious  bodies   that   fill  the   univerfe* 
But  what  wifdom,  much  more  worthy  of  admi- 
ration, hath  he  fhewn  in  the  equipoife  in  which 
they  are  kept  up^  by1  the  eternal  concord  of  their 
movements  !  Caft  your  eyes  firft  upon  our  folar 
fyftern ;    befide  the  feven  planets,  and  their  fa- 
tellites,  which  move  through  it  in  unchangeable 
order;  behold  upwards  of  fixty  comets  in  the 
whole,  revolve  in  it,  whofe  dark  excurfions  are 
traced:  what  an  infinitely  greater  number  (till 
that  we  have  never  difcovered.     Geometry  de- 
monstrates, that  from  the  form  of  their  orbits,  a 
million  of  thefe  bodies  could  move  round   the. 
fun,  without  incommoding  each  other's  courfe. 
Rife  now  upon  the  wings  of  thought,  traverfe  all 
thofe  worlds  in  which  the  fame  harmony  reigns 
throughout  ;  go  proftrate  yourfelf  at  the  foot  of 
the  Creator's  throrte,   and  behold  from  thence 
&  3  the 


ii4-      SYSTEM  OF  THE  WORLD. 

the  march  of  universal  nature.  What  a  fpecta- 
cle  opens  to  your  eyes  !  Thofe  ftars,  which  to  us 
here  below,  appear  but  immoveable  lights,  you 
heboid  in  all  their  fplendor,  like  funs  moving  in 
filence,  with  all  their  planetary  train,  round  more 
powerful  funs,  who  carry  them  alfo  round  funs 
ftill  more  glorious.  What  juft  proportions  be- 
tween thefe  heavenly  provinces,  empires  and 
worlds !  what  majefty  of  domination,  and  evert 
of  dependence  !  how  all  thefe  intermingle  with- 
out confufion ■!  What  then  mall  be  the  invifible 
chain  fufficiently  ftrong  to  connect  all  the  parts 
of  an  infinite  whole  ?  The  great  Newton  has 
difcovered  it  to  us.  It  is  one  Tingle  principle  of 
mutual  attraction  which  the  Supreme  Being  hath 
implanted  in  all  bodies.  This,  combined  with 
the  impulfe  which  they  received  on  coming  from 
his  creative  hand,  and  regulated  by  the  propor- 
tion of  magnitudes  and  diftances,  is  the  univerfa! 
a;  ent  of  nature.  This  tends  to  re-unite  what 
the  projectile  motion  would  feparate.  Thefe 
two  forces  perpetually  acling,  balance  each  other 
and  preferve  among  the  worlds,  that  order  which 
was  eitablifhed  fince  the  creation.  Each  body, 
nay,  each  fyftem,  attracts  all  the  reft,  as  it  is  at- 
tracted by  them.  A  general  reciprocity  of  at- 
traction unites  them,  while  it  keeps  them  fepa- 
rate, and  acls  as  a  prop  to  their  orbits,  without 
breaking  in  upon  them*  The  funs  which  en- 
lighten them,  receive  their  reflected  rays,  that 
not  an  atom  of  light  be  diffipafed  in  vain  through 
the  immenfity  of  fpace.  It  feems  as  if  the  Al- 
hty  would  have  traced,  in  this  fame  law,  the' 
prmeipJe*;©f  human  morality;  "  Mor- 


SYSTEM  6F  THE  WORLD.       11$ 

tais,  affift  each  other  with  your- lights,  and  with 
your  powers  tend  one  towards  the  other,  without 
departing  from  the  fphere  in  which  rny  provi- 
dence h^s^ placed  you.vj  This  orde?  is  eftablifh- 
ed  as  much  for  your  happinefs,as  for  the  fupport 
of  the  univerfe." 

The  two  children  had  not  fufTered  a  (ingle 
word  to  efcape  them 'during  the  latter  part  of  this 
convention  :  but  they  were  not  file-nt  from  ab- 
fence,  it  was  from  the  impreffton  of  furprife  with 
which  they  had  been  ftruck,  and  Phe  attention 
that  they  had  paid  to  the  magnificent  picture 
which  was  prefented  to  them,  Mr.  Glanville, 
neverthelefs,  feared,  left  part  of  his  difcourfe 
might  have  been  loft  to  their  apprehenfion,  as  he 
had  not  given  them  trme  to  reflect  on-  k ":  and 
therefore,  as  foon  as  he  rofe  the  next  morning, 
lie  wrote  down  from  memory,  the-  two  conver- 
fations  of  the  preceding  evening.  Emily  and 
George  read  them  over  feveral  times  in  the  courfe 
of  the  day.  Mr.  Glanville  promifed  to  give 
them,  in  an  evening  walk,  every  explanation  that 
they  could  defire  on  the  fubjecl:  of  attraction.;, 
while  he  explained3  at  the  fame  time,  the  motion 
of  the  earth  round  the  fun3  and  that  of  the 
moon  round  the  earth* 


DAMON 


(  »6  r 

DIAMON    AND    PYTHIAS. 
A  Drama  in  One  Act. 

Characters. 

Dionysius,  -  lyrant  of  Sytacufe.    ■ 

Gelo.v,  -  his  Favourite, 

Argus,   i   -  -  Captain  of  bis  Guards* 

Pahnurus,  -  <r  Pilot, 

Damon,       -  -  a  Citizen  of Syr  act/ft. 

Pythias,      -  -  a  Citizen  of  Corinth, 

Guards. 

Scene,  An  infttr  Apartment  in  the  Palace* 

S    C    E    N    E      L 

Diony/tuSj    Gekn^    Argus »    • 

Diinrfus.\triiOM-  haVe  I  ordered  for  Cxe- 
*)  W     cutron  ro-day  ?■  Let  me  fee  ; 

(opens  his  tablets.)  Oh,  it  is  to. day  that  Pythias 
promifed  to  return  from  Corinth  to  undergo  his 
ientence. 

(jelon.  And  does  your  majefty  think  that  he 
will  return  ? 

Dianyfms.  His  return  would  furprife  me,  I 
mult  confei's.  And  yet  that  friend  of  his,  Da- 
mon, who  offered  to  die  in  his  ftead^  if  he  mould 
not  return— 

Jrvust 


DAMON  ANf>  PYTHIAS.  if 7 

Argus,  I  have  juft  been  down  in  his  dunge- 
on. He  entreats  your  majefty  to  grant  him  a 
moment's  audience  this  morning. 

Dionyjlus,  I  fuppofe  to  fue  far  pardon  ;  but 
my  juftice  will  not  be  tamely  trifled  with.  If 
Pythias  does  not  return  this  very  day 

Gehn.  The  traitor !  He  would  only,  faid  he, 
take  a  farewell  view  of  his  country,  and  a  laft 
embrace  of  his  wife  and  children  ;  but,  in  ths 
fpace  of  time  that  you  vouchfafed  to  grant  him, 
he  might  have  made  a  voyage  twice  as  far  as  to 
Corinth,  and  back,  again.  I  did  fufpecl:  fome 
treachery*  Perhaps  he  is  gone  to  hire  afiaffins 
againft  your  royal  perfon  !  O  beft  of  kings,  muft 
I  ever  tremble  for  your  fafety  !  An  unaccount- 
able terror  hangs;  over  me.  Damon  has  cer- 
tainly confpired  with  him  to  attack  you  by  fur- 
prife,  and  it  is  upon  fome  dangerous  defign  that 
he  folicits  to  fpeak  with  your  majeity. 

Dion) feus.  You  make  me  ihudder.  I  will 
not  fee  him.  Attend  my  return  here,  Gelon  ;  I 
am  going  to  vifit  my  women  ;  and  Argus,  do 
you  take  care  that  my  guards  be  vigilant.  (He 
goes  out  by  a  private  door.  Argus  going  out  at  the 
other  fide ',  is  flopped  by  Gelon.) 

SCENE        II.. 

Gek?7y   Argus v 

Gehn.     Hark  ye,  Argus. 
Jrgus.  What  are  your  lordfhipY  commands  ? 
Gelon.    Let  the  palace-door  be  fhut  to-day,  to 
4S  but  Palinu:us>     Beware  of  fullering  any  per- 
fon 


ji8  DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS. 

fon  to  enter,  that  may  endanger  the  king's  life, 
under  pretence  of  imploring  his  mercy  in  favor 
©f  Damon. 

Argus.  Alas!  who  would  be  fo  hardy  as  to 
intercede  f©r  the  wretch  ! 

Gelon.     He  is-  unworthy  of  pity. 

Argus.  Ah  !  my  Lord,  let  me  at  leaft  be  per- 
mitted to  lament  his  defhny. 

Gelon.  Beware  of  exprefling  fuch  fentiments. 
I  fee,  you  partake  in  the  infatuation  of  the  cre- 
dulous populace.  Damon  is  no  more  than  an 
impoftor,  who  hoped  to  deceive  the  king  by  an 
affected  heroifm,  and  to  fave  the  life  of  his  friend, 

Ar%us.  You  will  admit,  at  leaft,  that  he  ex- 
pofed  his  own,  very  generoully,  at  the  fame  time. 

Gelon.  Do  not  you  fee  that  he  ccuhhtake  no 
other  courfe,  fearing,  as  he  difl,  that  Pythias,  o~ 
vercome  by  the  torture,  fhould  difcover  him  to  be 
an  zccomphcc  in  his  treafon. 

Argus.  But  Pythias  himfelf  has  not  been  con- 
victed. 

Gelon.  His  crime  is;  a  fecret,  lodged  in  my 
breaft.  The  intereft  of  the  State  forbids  it  to  be 
divulged  to  the  people.  •  Go,  and  let  my  orders 
be  performed.  .  I  repeat  them  to  you  in  the 
name  of  the  king  himielf.  Remember  that  your 
life  lhali  anfwer  for.  your  obedience. 

3    C    E    N    E      III*  . 

Gskn.  . 

Fortune,  I  thank  thee  ;  this  day  wilt'thouxle^ 
liver  /ne.  from  .the  laft  Syracufan,  whole  virtue 

CDUld 


■DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS.  i^ 

could  eclipfe  my  greatnefe.  He  has  of  himfelf 
brought  about  his.  deitruc~Hon.  My^efign  was 
but  to  get  rid  of  the  rich  Corinthian  Pythias,  in  or- 
der to  enrich  myfelf  with  the  fpoils  of  his  for- 
tune, and  now  have  I  a  lucky  opportunity  of  be- 
ing revenged  of  Damon's  pride.  He  ihall ,  rind 
.the  confequenceof  defpifing  the  favorite  of  a  ty- 
rant. And  for  thee,  Dionyfius,  I  know  to  what 
fentiments  I  owe  thy  generality.  In  vain  thou 
talkeft  to  me  of  friendthip  ;  thou  loader!  me  with 
kindnefles,  only  to  encourage  me  in  being  the  ia- 
itrument  of  thy  barbarity,  to  which  thou  would* 
eft  alio  facrijke  me  in  my  turn.  But  no,  I  Ihall 
rind  means  to  prevent  thee.  Exalt  my.  fortune 
:  but  a  little  higher,  I  will  C2ft  thee  into  that  pit 
which  thou  art  already  meditating  to  prepare  for 
me.  (Perceiving  a  wan^  who  advances  ivith  figns 
of  far, )  What  do  I  fee  ? 

S    C    E  ;N   -E      IV, 

Gelon,   Palinurus. 

•  G'ehn.     Is  it  you,  Palinurus^ 

Palinurus.     Yes,  my  Lord. 

Gelon.   (eagerly.)   Well, 

Palinurus,     Are  we  alone  ? 

Gehrig  You  may  fpeak,  without  fear.  Diony- 
sus has  juft  now  retired. 

Palinurus.  I  am  but  this  moment  landed,  and 
have  with  all  fecrecy  hastened  hither  to  pve  you 
myfelf  an  account  of  the  fuccefs  of  your  orders. 

Gelon.  Satisfy  my  impatience  :  have  you 
performed  them  \ 

Palinurus* 


120  DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS. 

Palinurus.  You  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
Pythias  :  he. is  no  more. 

Gelen.  1  am. alive  again.  You  could  never 
bring  me  thefe  happy  tidings  more  iealonably. 
But  hade  ;  acquaint  me  with  all  the  circumltan- 
ces. 

Palinurus,  I  had  fet  /ail,  having  in  chare 
from  Dionyfius,  to  convey  Pythias  "to  Corinth, 
and  from  you,  to  prevent  his  ever  arriving  there. 
The  third  night  after  our  departure  from  Syra- 
cufe,  there  arofe  a  violent  tempeit,  which  enabled 
me  to  put  my  defign  in  execution. 

Gelon.     How  ?  Proceed. 

Palinurus.  By  the  flames  of  the  1'ghtning,  I 
perceived  Pythias  on  his  knees,  at  the  (hip's  fide, 
with  his  hands  lifted  up  toward  heaven,  "im- 
mortal Gods,  cried  he,  it  is  not  for  my  own  life 
that  [  fupplicate  you,  but  for  that  of  my  friend. 
Let  me  live  to  return,  and  break  thofe  chains 
with  which  his  friendship  forme  has  loaded  him. 
I  refign  you  then  my  life,  when  i  have  faved  his. 
Would  you,  by  my  definition,  caufe  the  gene- 
rous Damon  to  fall  a  victim  to  his  virtue  ?  Ye 
know,  who  read  the  hearts  of  men,  that  ye  have 
not  a  more  noble  ima^e  of  yourfelv.es  upon 
earth."  "  Thy  lips,  anfwered  I,  infult  the  gods, 
in  daring  to  compare  a  mortal  to  them — thus 
they  punifh  thy  impiety  j"  and  I  (truck  him 
with  a  dreadful  blow  that  plunged  him  to  the 
bottom  of  the  devouring  deep. 

Gelon.  O  dear  Palinurus  !  none  could  have 
been  a  more  happy  inftrument  of  my  vengeance. 
Damon's  pofleilions  (hall,  after  his  death,  be  the 
reward  of  your  fidelity.  I  hear  a  door  open. 
The  king  comes.  Remember  to  tell  him  that 
Pythias  refufed  to  come  with  you.  SCENE 


DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS, 


SCENE 


Dlonyfius^  Gehrig  Palinurus^  Guards, 

Dlonyfius.  What  means  this  audacious  flran« 
ger  ?   Seize  him. 

Melon.  Let  my  fovereign  vouchfafe  to  fufpend 
his  orders.  It  is  the  pilot  Palinurus,  to  whom 
your  majefty's  wifdom .  confided  the  charge  of 
conducting  Pythias  to  Corinth. 

Dicnyfius.  How!  has  he  brought  him  back 
too? 

Palinurus.  No,  Mre.  As  foon  as  he  found 
himfelf  landed  in  his  native  country,  he  told  me 
that  it  was  unnecefiary  to  wait  for  him,  and  that 
I  might  return  to  Syraeufe  alone.  This  is  all 
the  mefTage  that  he  has  given  me  for  Damon. 

Dionyfius.  You  may  deliver  it  to  him  your- 
(z]{.  Let  him  come  before  me,  as  I  have  now 
no  favor  to  grant  him.  Go  ;  (to  one  of  the 
guards)  tell  Argus  to  bring  him  hither. 

Gelon.  Your  majeity  fees  how  juft  my  fufpi- 
clons  of  Pythias  were. 

Dionyfius,  There  needed  no  more  ro  prove 
him  worthy  of  death. 

Gclon.     By  an  action  of  the  moft  horrible  per- 
fidy, he  leaves  his  belt  friend  to  die  in  his  ftead. 
,Does  not  this  afford  theftrongert  prefumption  of 
his  treafon  to  your  majefty  ?  Take  my  advice, 
this  moment  deliver  up  to  death  the  accomplice 
L  of 


122  DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS. 

of  his  guilt.  He  deferves  it  well  for  having  dif- 
appointed  your  juft  revenge. 

Dionyfius.  Jt  is  not  my  intention  to  retard  hie 
punilhment. 

Gekn.  Why  then  would  you  lofe  the  preci- 
ous time,  in  lifiening  to  him  ? 

Dionyfius.  ..No  ;  it  is  my  pleafure,  His  ccn- 
ndence  in  friendship  feemed  an  infult  to  my  pow» 
er.     I  (hall  rejoice  to  confound  him. 

Gehn.     Here  he  is. 


SCENE      VI. 

Dionyfius,    Gelon,   Palinurus^  Damon,    [in  chains) 
Guards. 

Dionyfius.  Well,  Damon  ;  this  is  the  day  on 
which  Pythias  fhould  have  returned. 

Damon.     Alas  !   I  tremble  ftill.    It  is  not  paft. 

Dionyfius.  Why  do  you  not  pray  to  the  gods 
to  lengthen  it  ? 

Damon.  What  fayed:  thou,  Dionyfius  ?  Thou 
art  not  capable  of  conceiving  either  my  fears  or 
my  wifnes.  Ah  !  if  the  night  was  come  !  if 
heaven  would  keep  back  my  friend's  veflel  from 
the  harbour  until  to-morrow  !  if  it  would  per- 
mit me  to  fave  his  life  by  facrificing  mine  for 
him  ! 

Diony/lus.  You  may  take  that  rare  fatisfaclion 
very  foon. 

Damon.  O  Dionyfius,  thou  filleft  me  with 
joy.  I  dreaded  the  virtue  of  Pythias  more  than 
I  dread  thy  executioners. 

Dionyfius. 


DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS.  133 

Dionyfius.  Bani(h  your  alarms.  Pythias  will 
never  come  back.  Palinurus  is  come  to  inform 
you  of  the  matter. 

Palinurus,  I  can  allure  you  from-  himfelf, 
that  it  will  be  to  no  purpofe  to  wait  for  his  re^ 
turn. 

Damon,  (with  vehemence.)  Peace,  vile  flander- 
cr ;  if  thou  hadft  told  me  that  his  wife,  his  chil- 
dren, all  his  fellow-citizens,  were  earneft  to  de- 
tain him,  and  demanded  to  come  in  his  ftead3  I 
could  for  a  moment  have  believed  fuch  a  forgery  ; 
but  Pythias  never  ufed  the  language  imputed  to 
him  by  thy  effrontery. 

Dionyfius,  Strange  infatuation  ! 
Damon,  Pythias  will  return  this  very  day,  if 
he  has  not  ceafed  to  breathe  the  vital  air.  But 
no,  he  ftill  Jives  ;  heaven  will  not  permit  the 
mod  virtuous  of  mortals  to  perilh,  while  I  can 
redeem  his  life. 

Dionyfius,  What,  do  you  refufe  to  believe  fo 
pofitive  a  teftimony  ? 

Damon,     i  believe  much  more  firmly  in  the 
innocence  of  my  friend.      Now,    Dionyfius,  it 
refts  with  you  to  perform  your  promife. 
Dionyfius.     What  have  I  promifed  you  ? 
Damon.    To  do  no  ill  to  Pythias,  if  he  returns 
after  my  death. 

Dionyfius.  Blockhead  !  Doft.  thou  not  fee, 
then,  that  the  wretch  betrays  thee  ?  At  this  very 
moment,  when  thotf  trembleft  for  him  alone,  his 
heart  beats  with  joy  at  having  deceived  thee. 

Damon.     No,  it  is  of  your  friends  that  fuch 

treachery  is  to  be  fufpeded.     I  know  mine  bet- 

L  2  ten 


X2i,  DAMON  AND  PYTHIA.' 

ter.     Would  to  heaven  I  could  rely  as  fecureir 
on  your  faith  as  on  his. 

Gelon.     What* unheard-of  infolence  ! 

Dionyfius.     His  death  (hall  foon  atone  for  it. 

Damon.  I  am  more  impatient  than  thou  art. 
to  haften  it.  Iwait  only  a  word  from  thy  mouth  : 
Swear  once  more  to  fpare  Pythias  at  his  return. 

DknyfiUs.  Why  do  you  urge  fo  ufelefs  a  pro- 
mife?  The  knave  has  taken  too  good  care  of 
himfelf  to  have  any  occafion  for  it. 

Damon.  Affront  not  virtue,  Dionyfius  ;  it  is 
the  grofTeft  impiety  to  diftrufr.  if. 

Dionyfius.  Does  it  belong  to  you  to  defend 
Virtue,  when  you  are  going  to  fall  a  victim  to 
treachery  ? 

Damon.  Even  to  my  la  ft  breath,  virtue  mall 
receive  my  homage. 

Dionyfius.     I  pity  your  blind  fanaticifm. 

Damon.  But  it  is  not  your  virtue  that  I  im- 
plore, I  claim  your  juftice.  Put  me  to  death, 
but  fwear  to  fpare  Pythias.  Let  me  carry  with 
me  to  my  tomb  the  hope  of  faving  him. 

Dionyfius.  Since  you  require  only  a  fuperflu- 
Ous  oath,  I  give  it  to  you  :  \(  Pythias  returns  af- 
ter your  death,  I  fwcar  that  he  (hall  live. 

Damon,  (ratjmg  bis  hands  t$  heaven.)  Immortal 
gods,  receive  this  oath  from  his  lips,  and  if  ever 
he  meditates  -a  violation  of  it,  let  all  your  thun- 
ders compel  him  to  perform  it.  (To  Dionyfius,) 
Tyrant,  J  am  farisfied  ;  one  innocent  victim  I 
have  matched  from  thy  barbarity.  I  now  by 
another  at  thy  feet :  (falls  down  before  him.)  Let 
me  fupplicate  you  for  a  favor  which  may  be 
granted,  without  difficulty* 

Dicr.yfiui.. 


DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS.  125 

Dionyftus.     Speak. 

Damon.  Let  me  be  led  this  inftarit  to  execu- 
tion. I  muft  certainly  be  guilty  in  your  eyes, 
fince  I  dare  to  defy  your  indignation. , 

Dionyftus.  You  mall  be  fatisfied.  Drag  him 
to  the  fcaffold.  (7 he  guards  feize  Damon.)  Ar- 
gus, afTemble  all  my  guards  to  keep  the  populace 
in  order.  Let  the  firft  man  be  punifhed  with 
death  who  (hall  dare  even  to  murmur. 

Damon,  [as  he  is  led  off.)  I  bleis  you,  mighty 
gods,  that  I  have  faved  my  friend. 


S     C     E     N '    E       VIL 
Dionyftus,  Gelon,  Palinurus. 

Dionyftus,  (after  a  Jhort  Jilence.)  Is  Damon  in- 
fenfible  ?  Is  he  the  moil  generous  *of  men?  If 
he  had  afked  mercy  for  himfelf,  I  think,  I  could 
have  been  inclined  to  grant  it  to  him. 

Gelon.  O  beft  of  kings  !  Never  did  a  crimi- 
nal dare  to  defy  you  fo  audaciously  ;  and  is  your 
heart  itill  moved  for  him  ?  But  in  this  cafe  your 
majeity's  clemency  might  bring  on  the  moft  fatal 
confequences.  The  ftubborn  Syracufans  would 
not  fail  to  think  it  weaknefs,  and  would  only  be- 
come the  more  infolent. 

Dionyftus.  Yes,  I  am  fatisfied,  this  rigorous 
example  is  neceffary  to  my  fecurity.  Rebelli- 
ous people  !  whoever  would  rule  you,  muft  ex- 
hauft  your  blood,  and  load  you  with  indignities. 

Gelon.  The  guilt  of  Pythias  orcafioned  Da- 
man's crime  ;  therefore  he  deferves  a  double 
death. 

L  3  Dionyftus, 


no  DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS. 

Dlonyfws.  Gelon,  I  thank  thy  zeal.  Conti- 
nue to  find  out  new  victims  to  my  power.  P  refh 
marks  of  my  favor  fhall  reward  you.  And  do 
you,  Palinurus,.  hafte  to  acquaint  the  people  with 
the  treachery  of  Pythias,  and  particularly  with 
Damon's  crime.  I  will  not  have  him  receive  a 
iingle  mark  of  pity.  (Palinurus  going  out,  Jlarti 
back  with  furprife. ) 

S    C    E    N   E     vnr. 

Dionyftus,  Gelon,  Palinurus,  Argus,  Damon  and  Py*» 
thiasy  {both  in  chains-. )   Guards. 

Dlonyfius.      What  do  I  fee  ? 

Gelon,   (aftde.)     Ah!   traitor  Palinurus! 

/Irgus.  As  I  conduced  Damon  to  executrony 
according  to  your  majefty's  order,  this  ftrangcr 
came  running  toward  me,  out  of  breath.  "  Stop, 
cried  he  ;  ftrike  off  my  friend's  chains.  D*=» 
roon  is  no  longer  your  hoftage  ;  Pythias  himfelf 
is  here,  and  he  alone  muft  die."  They  threw 
themfelves  into  each  other's.arms,  and  prefled 
forward  with  emulation  toward  the  fcaffold,  as 
if  they  were  going  to  drfpute  a  throne.  I  thought 
It  my  duty,  on  this  unexpedted  incident,  to  brin^ 
them  both  before  your  majeity. 

Dionyfiui,  [with  extreme  ajlon 'foment.)  Is  this 
pofiible  ?  May  I  believe  my  eyes  ?  . 

Damon.     My  fears  were  well  grounded.   Ah  } 
Dionyfius,  why  did  not  you  order  my  execution' 
an  hour  fooner  ? 

Pythias.  Do  you  think,  then,  that  I  could 
have  furvived  your  death,  if  I  had  thus  occafion-^ 

cd 


DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS.  ft'j 


ed  it  ?  if  1  had  thus  become  your  murderer,  my 
deareft  friend •?  BlefTed  be  the  gods,  who  at 
length  feconded  my  impatience.  O  Damon,  let 
me  embrace  thee  for  the  laft  time.  (7 hey  embrace 
Gjfcdlionaiely. ) 

Damon.  Faithful,  but  cruel  friend  !  Diony- 
fiiis,  grant  Pythias  his  life,  or  let  us-  die  toge- 
ther. 

Pythias.  Tyrant,  you  are  furprized  at  feeing 
me  again.  My  miraculous  prefer vation  forces 
you  to  believe  in  thofe-gods  which  your  heart 
would  fain  annihilate.  "When  you  caufed  me  xo 
be  plunged  into  the  fea,  you  did  not  forefee  th-at 
a  friendly  wave  would  call:  me  upon  fome  rocks 
which  were  near  at  hand. 

Damon.  What  then !  you  have  not  k^n  your 
country  !  you  have  not  embraced  your  wife  and 
children  ! 

Pythias.  Could  I  think  of  rafting  that  plear- 
fure,  when  the  leaft  dehy  would  be  fatal  to  yotr? 

Damon.  Wretch  that  I  am-1  then  1  have  not 
ferved  you  in  any  refpecr. 

Pvthias,  Alas?  was  it  not  your  intention  to 
procure  me,  at  the  hazard  of  your  life^  that  fa- 
tisfaction  which  fortune  has  envied  me  ?  What 
did  I  not  fuffer  under  this  reflection  !  fcxpoltd 
on  defart  rocks,  fL-nd ins  up  night  and  day  upon 
the  higher!  part  of  them,  to  have  the  farther 
view  of  a  fhip's  approach,  I  no  longer  directed 
my  wifhes  towards  Corinth,  but  inceflantly  called 
•upon  Syracufe,  Syracufe- ! 

Damon.  You  knew  well,  that,  even  expiring, 
I  fnould  have  been  convinced  of  your  fincerity. 


V23  DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS. 

Pythias.  And  I  fhould  have  betrayed  that  ge- 
nerous confidence.  Some  god,  touched  with 
my  forrow,  vouchfafed  to  fend  me  a  light  bark, 
which  I  beheld  himfelf  defend  againft  the  rage  of 
the  waves.  At  length,  when  i  was  made  eafy 
with  regard  to  your  fate,  on  beholding  this  more, 
with  what  joy  did  I  hail  it  !  I  am  now  in  your 
hands,  Dionyfius  ;  deliver  my  friend,  and  then 
arm,  when  you  will,  your  executioners — or  my 
afTaiTin  there,  (Pointing  it  Paiinurus*) 

Dionyfius.  What  do  I  hear,  Palinurus  ?  De- 
clare the  truth  inftantly,  or  the  cruelleft  of  tor- 
ments fhall  tear  it  from  you, 

Palinurus,  I  only  obeyed  your  majefty's  fa- 
vorite. Gelon  had  ordered  me  to  throw  Pythi- 
as into  the  fea  in  the  night  time. 

Pythias.  Ah  !  Gelon-;  I  pardon  the  crimes 
which  you  forged  r.gainft  me,  in  order  to  feize 
upon  my  fortune.  I  pardon  your  attempt  upon 
my  life.  But  what  had  my  friend  done,  that 
you  ihould  fo  cruelly  involve  him  in  my  deftruc- 
don  ? 

Dionyfius,     Anfwer,  villaii 

Gelon,  (in  the  deepeji  corifhrnatioy.)  Does  your 
majerty  doubt  that  my  attention  to  your  fafe- 
ty 

Dionyfius.  Be  filcnt.  Pythias  was  innocent, 
and  you  knew  it.  Friendship  between  guilty 
fouls,  never  rifes  to  this  degree  of  heroilm.  No- 
ble friends  he  free,  and  you  wretches  go  and  re- 
ceive your  death.  Argus,  lead  them  both  to  ex- 
ecution. 

P)thias.  Stop,  Dicn)fius  ;  you  have  juft  now 
felt  how  glorious  it  is  to  be  juft— 

Damon, 


,  DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS.  129- 

Damon.  Learn  the  happinefs  of  being  gene- 
rous. 

Dionyfiu*.  What  manner  of  men  are  ye,  who 
kneel  to  me  for  your  murderers  ?  But  no,  they 
muft  die  5  it  is  the  only^hing  that  I  can  refufe 
to  fo  much  virtue.  G*  Gelon  ;  feek  a  friend 
who  will  facrifke  himfelf  for  you.  On  this  con- 
dition alone,  I  pardon  you. 

Daman  and  Pythias,     Ah  !  prince  !— *• 

Dionyfius.  It  is  in  vain.  If  I  have  already 
fhed  fo  much  innocent  blood,  I  will  not  let  the 
guilty  efcape.  Bafe  traitor  !  I  have  read  his  in- 
moft  thoughts.  Heavens  !  am  I  then  condemn- 
ed never  to  find  a  faithful  heart  ?  From  you,,  a- 
lone,  incomparable  men,  I  expect  to  find  that 
happinefs.  Permit  me  to  hope  that  I  fhall  one 
day  be  the  third  in  your  friendship. 


7'HE 


f  }§&   ) 

THE    SIEGE    OF"  COLCHESTER: 

A      D  R  A  MA       IN       O  N  E       A  C  T. 

Ch    A    r!    C    T    £    R    S. 

j  ;o  RD  Fairfax,       -       General  of  the  Parlia- 

went   Army, 
Lord  Cape l,     -     -     Governor  of ' Colchejler, 

„:\ionlv  -  -      Fairfax's  Son. 

Arthur,  -  Capet's  Son. 

Colonkl  M O R G  A N,       Friend  of  Fairfax. 
Colonel  Kingston,  Friend  of  Cape!. 
oURRV,  -         -       a  Captain  under  Fairfax* 

Guards  and  Soldiers. 
Scene   Fairfax's  tent  before  the  zva'lls  of  Cokheflcr, 

THH  civil  war  in  England  under  Charles  I. 
being,  as  it  were,  re-kindled,  after  a  fhort 
reflation,  the  parliament,  by  refolving  to  prefent 
no  more  addretTes  to  that  unfortunate  prince, 
then  a  prifoner  in  the  lile  of  Wight,  rilled  the 
hearts  of  all  honeft  men  with  indignation.  Scot- 
land, Wales,  fome  towns  in  the  North,  part  of 
the  county  of  Surry,  and  even  ieventecn  men  of 
war  in  the  parliament's  pay,  declared  for  the 
king.  There  were  fome  rifings  alfo  in  his 
favour  in  the  counties  of  Eifex  and  Kent,  which 
were  fupported  by  the  zeal  of  the  Earl  of  Surry, 
Lord  Capel,  Sir  Charles  Lucas,  and  Sir  George 
Lille.  Againft  thefe  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax  was 
with  a  pretty  numerous  army.     That  able 

general 


THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER.     i3r 

General  found  no  difficulty  in  defeating  a  few 
troops  newly  raifed,  and  ill  difciplined.  He 
gained  a  complete  victory  over  them  at  Maid- 
ilone  in  Kent  ;  and  purfuing  their  fcattered  re- 
mains, he  obliged  both  them  and  the  royalifts  in 
Effex  to  fhut  themfelves  up  in  the  town  of  Col- 
chefter,  which  he  haftened  immediately  to  inveft. 

The  liege  of  Colchefter  is  one  of  the  moft  re- 
markable events  of  that  unfortunate  period,  on 
account  of  the  obftinate  defence*  made  by  the  be- 
fieged.  It  hfted  from  the  18th  of  June,  to  the 
end  of  Auguft,  1648.  The  walls  and  fortifica- 
tions of  the  town,  faid  to  have  been  built  by  the 
Romans,  and  remarkable  for  that  ftrength  and 
folidity  which  their  works  ufually  difplay,  (till 
exhibit  dreadful  marks  of  the  fury  of  the  .fiege.' 
The  greateft  part  of  the  churches  in  particular 
were  half  demolished  by  the  batteries  of  the  par- 
liament army ;  but  the  befieged,  notwithstanding 
-the  violent  affaults  of  their  adverfaries,  notwith- 
ftanding  the  extremities  to  which  they  were  re- 
duced for  want  of  provifion,  infomuch  that  they 
had  nothing  left  for  fubfiftence,  but  the  horfes  of 
the  garrifon,  continued  to  makebrifk  fallies,  and 
defied  all  the  force  of  the  befiegers,  in  the  un- 
certain expectation  of  relief  from  fome  quarter 
or  other. 

At  this  period  commences  the  action  of  the 
following  drama,  in  which  the  principal  object: 
is,  to  delineate  in  its  proper  ftrength,  the  refolute 
and  generous  character  of  Lord  Capel,  which 
was  invariably  difplayed  in  every  circumftance. 
of  his  life  and  death.      Such  a  character,  it  is 

pre- 


iii    THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER. 

prefumed,  will  not  be  found  uninterefting  to  the 
mind  of  a  young  reader  ;  and  in  order  to  re- 
prefent  it  to  the  fulleft  advantage,  at  the  end  of 
the  drama,  are  fubjoined  fome  interciling  par- 
ticulars concerning  the  death  of  that  virtuous 
nobleman. 

It  remains,  however,  to  be  obfcrved,  that  the 
fact  upon  which  the  drama  principally  turns,  is 
by  no  means  advanced  as  authentic  Neither 
Lord  Clarendon,  or  any  other  writer  of  that  age, 
takes  the  leaif.  notice  of  it.  Nor  has  Hume,  or 
Rich  modem  hiftorians,  as  from -their  averfion 
to  the  republican  party,  it  might  be  fuppofed 
would  not  let  flip  fuch  an  incident,  made  any 
mention  of  the  circumftance.  It  depends,  there- 
fore, entirely  upon  the  credit  of  Monfieur  Xa- 
guenet,  who  in  his  life  of  Cromwell  relates  it  at 
large,  with  many  particulars,  which  at  leait  give 
it  the  appearance  of  probability. 


The  SIEGE  of   COLCHESTER. 

SCENE     I. 

Fairfax,  Morgan. 

Fairfax,  (reading  a  paper  volnch  he  has  J  lift  re- 
ceived f  rem  Morgan.)  Is  it  pofiible  that  laft  night's 
attack  fhould  have  coft  us  i'o  many  brave  foldiers  ? 

Morgan.  Y.es,  general,  eight  hundred  men  ; 
and,  to  fay  the  truth,  the  ilower  of  our  troops. 

Fairfax.  It  would  be  a  fatisfaclion,  if  we  had 
purchafed  fome   advantage  by  this  lofs  :    but 

after 


TUK  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER,    133 

after  (o  many  afTaults,  Colchcftcr  refifts  our  arms 
as  obftinately  as  at  firft.  The  late  example  of 
Oxford  fwells  the  hearts  of  the  townfmen  -s  and 
that  obflinate  Capel— — — 

-Morgan.      He  alone  is  a  furer  defence  to  the 
town,  than  all  its  ramparts.   In  vain  (hall  we  at- 
tack, them,  as  long  as  he  determines  to  hold  out. 

Fairfax.      He  will  not  defy  me  much  longer. 

■Morgan.     How,  Sir  Thomas  ? 

Fairfax.  If  I  cannot  overcome  his  refinance, 
his  fon  (hall. 

Morgan.      His  fon  ? 

Fairfax.  Yes,  Morgan  ;  young  Arthur  (hall 
open  me  the  gates  of  Colchefter  this  very -day. 
For  this  purpofe  I  have  fent  for  him  and  my  own 
fon  from  London,  and  I  am  juft  now  informed 
of  their  arrival. 

Morgan.  Here  comes  Surry,  returned  from 
Colcheiter* 

*S  C  E  N  E    II. 

Fairfax^  Morgan^  Surry. 

Fairfax.  Well,  Surry,  is  the  truce  accepted  ? 
Does  Lord  Capel  agree  to  the  interview  that  I 
kave  propofed  to  him  ? 

Surry.  Yes,  General  ;  hoftilities  are  fufpend- 
ed  for  fix  hours,  and  this  very  morning  Lord 
Capel  is  to  come  to  your  tent. 

Fairfax.  I  fufjpofe  to  difplay  his  triumph  to 
my  face.     How  did  he  receive  you  ? 

Surry.  With  an  air  of  cool  unruffled  firmnef?. 
Resolution  is  painted  in  his  countenance. 

M  Fairfax. 


j 34-    THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER. 

Fairfax.  That  this  proud  royal  ill:  fhoujd 
alone  ftand  immoveable,  while  even  the  genius 
of  Britain  trembles  with  difmny  !  No  ;  he  (hall 
foon  be  fhaken.  i  will  aflfail  him  in  his  tenderer! 
part.  Surry,  call  hither  my  ion.  (Surry  goes 
out. ) 

SCENE    III. 

Fairfax^  Morgan, 

Morgan.  Shall  I  take  the  liberty,  Sir  Tho- 
mas, to  afk  what  is  your  defign  ?  I  cannot  (o 
much  as  conjecture  what  it  is. 

Fairfax.  Perhaps  not  ;  ,  but  I  mall  inform 
you.  Laft  night  I  received  intelligence  that  the 
Duke  of  Hamilton,  with  a  numerous  army, 
fuppprted  by  Sir  Marmaduke  Langdale,  who 
follows  him,  is  coming  to  relieve  Colchefter. 
In  order  to  prevent  him,  if  poflible.,  I  ventured 
!aft  night  upon  a  third  aflault,  of  which  you  have 
feen  the  fuccefs.  But  ftratagem  mall  put  me  in 
porTelTion  of  what  I  could  not  feize  by  force. 

Morgan.  How  can  young  Arthur  arTift  ycu 
in  this  fcheme  ? 

Fairfax.  I  will  reprefent  to  him  in  the  mod 
lively  colours,  the  danger  that  threatens  his 
father.  They  (hall  fee  each  other  here.  Ar- 
thur, trembling  for  a  life  fo  dear  to  him,  will 
prevail  on  him  to  furrender. 

Morgan.     Do  you  think  (oy  General  ? 

Fairfax.  I  hope  fo.  A  man  whom  the  whole 
univerfe  in  arms  could  not  conquer,  has  often 
been  overpowered  by  a  fingle  tear. 

Morgan, 


THE   SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER.     135 

Morgan.  Capel  feels,  it  is  true,  the  affecYicn. 
of  a  father,  but  he  is  alfo  endowed  with  the  firm- 
nefs  of  a  hero. 

Fairfax.  If  the  moft  powerful  energy  of 
nature  cannot  bend  him — But  I  fee  my  fon  ;  I 
would  fpeak  with  him  alone.  Go  you,  Colonel, 
arid  join  young  Arthur,  and  leave  nothing  un- 
tried to  bring  him  to  my  purpofe, 


SCENE     IV, 
Fairfax^  Edmond. 

Fairfax .     Come  to  my  arms,  my  dear  boy. 

Edmond,  (embracing  him.)  O  father  !  how 
happy  am  I  that  the  duties  of  war  have  not  en- 
tirely removed  me  from  your  thoughts. 

Fairfax.  '  Your  joy  will  be  much  greater, 
when  you  know  my  motive  for  calling  you  down 
hither. 

Edmond.     I  am  ready  to  obey  your  orders. 

Fairfax.  Your  heart  will  approve  them,  if  it 
is  actuated  by  the  fentimentsof  friendfhip. 

Edmond.  You  make  me  impatiently  defire  to 
hear  them. 

Fairfax.  It  is  in  your  power  to  fave  young 
Arthur  from  the  greater!  misfortune  that  he  has 
to  fear. 

Edmond.  How  !  Dear  father^  I  conjure  you 
let  us  not  lofe  a  moment. 

Fairfax.       My   Lord   Capel,  by   a  blind  ob- 

itinacy,   is  going  to  plunge  himfelf  into  ruin.     I 

efteem  him  for  his  courage,  and  therefore  cannot 

help  lamenting  his  misfortune.      Particularly  I 

M  2  can 


136    THE  SEIGE  OF  COLCHESTE) 

can  by  no  means  be  indifferent  to  the  lot  of  hi* 
Ton,  finee  he  is  your  friend.  Let  us  fave  them 
both  from  inevitable  deftru&ion. 

Bdmond.  What  are  the  means  ?  how  gladly 
will  I  embrace  them,  if  they  are  within  my  pow- 
er ! 

Fairfax.  I  am  to  have  an  interview  with  his 
lordfhip  this  morning.  I  will  indulge  him  with 
the  fatisfavSlion  of  feeing  and  embracing  his  fon  ; 
but  when  I  reprefent  to  him. the  calamities  into 
which  his  obftinate  rafhnefs  will  inevitably  draw 
him,  I  fhould  wifh  Arthur  to  enforce  my  remon- 
ftrances  with  his  own  entreaties  and  folicitati- 
ons; 

Edmond.     Ah,  father  !  I  fear — 

Fairfax.  What?  that  they  would  have  no 
effect  r  Ah,  child  !  nature  has  given  children 
more  power  over  their  fathers,  than  the  laws 
have  given  to  fathers  over  their  children, 

Edmond,  I  know  Arthur  well  ;  he  is  too  du- 
tiful a  fon  to  attempt  diffuading  his  father  from 
what  he  thinks  his  duty. 

Fairfax.  When  neceflity  obliges  him  to  do 
fo,  it  is  the  ftrongeft  proof  that  he  can  give  him 
of  his  refpeel  and  affection. 

Edmor.'L     Fie  will  never  think  fo. 

Fairfax^  Mis  intereft  requires  that  he  -mould 
be  convinced  of  it.      Are  not  you  his  friend  ? 

Edmond,      Q  Sir,   can   you  afk  that  ?   Next  to 
my  parents,   I  Jove  him   beft  upon   earth.     At. 
fhis.  very  moment,  when  our  fathers  are  oppofed 
in  arms,  f  would  lay  down  my  life  to  fave  his. 

Fairfax.     Far  from  condemning  this  ardor,  I 

ire  it ;  it  (hews  rqe  that  my  fonVheart  is  ca- 

'      '   "  pabia 


THE  SEIGE  OF  COLCHESTER.     i3) 

pable  of  the  nobleft  efforts  of  generofity.  Such 
fentiments  make  us  worthy  of  the  godlike  bleffing 
of  friendfhip.  You  would  die  for  your  friend  ; 
then  furely  you  will  fave  him.  If  his  fortune  and 
his  life  are  dear  to  you,  fupport  me  in  mydefign. 
Go  to  hin),  and  bring  him  hither ;  I  will  join 
my  perfuafions  to  your's. 

Edmtmd.    I  obey,   {afide.)  Heavens!  what  can 
I  fay  to  him  r  {goes  out. ) 


SCENE       V. 

(Fairfax  remains  alone  for  fome  time  in  a  fenfive  Gi~> 
titude.     Surry  enters  to  him.) 

Surry,     Sir  Thomas 

Fairfax,  Surry,  I  juft  now  intended  to  fend 
for  you  ;  I  am  going  to  have  fome  converfation 
with  Arthur  and  my  Ton  ;  in  the  mean  time,  go 
you  immediately,  and  give  orders  to  Colonel 
Morgan,  that  the  troops  be  in  readinefs  to  form, 
at  a  moment's  notice. 

Surry,  (furprized. )  I  beg  pardon  for  my  free* 
dom,  Sir  Thomas ;  but  this  order  I  confefs  fur- 
prizes  me, 

Fairfax.  I  underffond  you,  but  you  have  no 
occalion  to  be  uneafy.  Fairfax  may,  according 
to  the  ufage  of  war,  attack  his  enemy  by  fur- 
prize,  but  he  will  never  violate  his  word.  The 
truce  that  you  have  negociated,  we  mall  obferve 
with  fcrupulous  fidelity  ;  1  only  intend,  while  I 
am* exhorting  proud  Gapel  to  furrender,  that  his 
eyes  mall  be  (truck  with  the  fudden'  appearance 
of  a  courageous  and  well  appointed  army.  Their 
M  3  dazzling 


3^8    THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER, 

dazzling  array  will  perhaps  jmprefs  liirrv  with  3 
little  dread,  notwithstanding  his  obftinacy. 

Surry.     Bur,  Sir — ^ 

.Fairfax,  (with  a  ion;  of  authority.)  Gq-,  do 
not  delay  a  moment. 


S     C    E    N    E      VI. 


Fairfax,  Edmond,  Arthur,  [who  fahtes  Fairfax 
fpe£\ fully  as  he  enters.) 


/•• 


Fairfax,  (taking  him  by  the  hand.)  I  am  re- 
joiced to  fee  you,  my  dear  Arthur.  I  know  your 
'friendfhip  for  my  Ton,  and  that  circumftance  in- 
terests me  in  every  thing  that  concerns  you.  I 
will  give  you  a  proof  of  it  to-day,  by  bringing 
you  to  your  father. 

Arthur.  How,  Sir  ?  will  you  fend  me  into 
Colehefter  to  tight  by  his  fide  ? 

Fairfax,  I  am  not  furprized  at  this  martial 
ardor  in  the  fori  of  the  gallant  Capel  ;  but  in  thg 
prefcnt  flate  of  things,  it  could  only  lead  you  tq 
misfortune. 

Arthur.  Do  you  call  it  a  misfortune  to  dis 
with  my  father,  fighting  for  my  fovereign  ? 

Fairfax.  Then  you  love  your  father  mora 
than  life  itfelf  ?    - 

Arthur.  Your  own  fon,  Sir  Thomas,  will  an^ 
Aver  that  queftion  for  me. 

Fairfax.  Well  then,  without  parting  with 
life,  you  may  preferve  it  to  your  father,  or  mon? 
properly  reftore  it  to  him. 

///.'.?-.    Ah  !  tell  me  what  can  I  do  (or  him? 

Fairfax* 


THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER.     139. 

Fairfax.  It  is  impoffible  that  the  town  can 
hold  out  long ;.  we  muft  certainly  take  it  in  a  few 
days,  and  inftead  of  the  laurels  which  now  crown. 
Lord  Capel's  head,  he  can  expeft  nothing  but 
the  executioner's  axe. 

Arthur,  I  conceive  your"  generous  defign  • 
you  -.would'  have  the  enemies  of  my  father  take 
his  fon's  head,  inftead  of  his  own.  To  die  for 
my  father,  and  for  my  king  at  the  fame  time  ? 
Glorious  deitiny  !  {throwing  himfelf  at  his  feet.) 
How  (hall  I  thank  you  for  having  thought  mc 
worthy  of  it  \ 

Edmonds  [aftde.)  Generous  delufion  !  how- 
will  it  mortify  him  to  be  undeceived! 

Fairfax^  (raifing  and  embracing  Arthur.)  My 
young  friend,  you  force  me  to  eiteem  you  as 
highly  as  I  do  the  gallant  nobleman  to  whom. 
you  owe  your  birth.  But  do  you  think  me  cru- 
el enough  to  demand  fuch  a  facrifke? 

Arthur,     What  do  you  require  of  me,  then  ? 

Fairfax.  An  effort  lefs  fatal  to  both  In  a 
few  minutes  you  will  fee  your  father  here  ;  join 
your  perfuafions  to  mine,  and  let  us  prevail  on 
him  to  furrender  a  place  which  all  the  bravery  in 
the  world  cannot  defend  much  longer. 

drtbur,      What  I,  Sir  ? 

Fairfax,  Reprefent  to  him  the  dreadful  dan- 
ger of  being  profcribed  by  the  parliament  ;  the 
difgrace  of  perifhin'j;  by  the  executioner  ;  the 
grief  of  his  diftracred  widow  ;  the  poignant  af- 
fliction of  his  fon  ;  the.connTcation  of  your  efr 
tates.  Defcribe  to  him  the  ir/etrievable  calami- 
ties into  which  his  cruel  obftinac.y.muft  plunge 
you  all, 

Arthur, 


340    Ttifi  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER. 

Arthur.  Sir  Thomas,  you  were  kind  enough 
to  exprefs  juft  now  fome  efteem  for  me  -,  was 
that  expreffion  of  efteem  fincere  r 

Fairfax.     Do  you  doubt  it? 
Arthur.     Give  me  leave  then  to  deferve  it, 
and    to   look    upon  your   propofal,  as  intended 
merely  to  put  my  virtue  to  the  proof. 

Fairfax.  You  will  prove  your  virtue  fuffici- 
enlly,  by  matching  your  father  from  the  horrors 
of  a  cruel  death.  When  he  fees  you  at  his  feety 
trembling  for  the  deftiny  that  threatens  him,  can 
he  refill:  your  fupplicating  love  ? 

Arthur.  If  1  was  capable  of  that  unbecoming 
weaknefs,  my  father  is  too  wife  to  be  fwayed  by 
the  tears  of  fueh  a  child  as  me. 

Fairfax,  If  he  is  wife,-  he  will  be  fenfible  that 
ihey  are  {lied  for  his  prefervation. 

Arthur.  Put  yourfelf  in  his  place,  Sir  Tho- 
mas :  If  you  were  trulted  with  the  defence  of  a 
town,  would  you  give  it  up,  on  the  folicitation  of 
your  fon  ? 

Fairfax ■,  (embar  raffed.)  Afk  my  Edmond  what 
powef  his  folicitations  have  over  me.  Ungrate- 
ful I  It  is  his  attachment  to  you  that  makes  me 
alfo  tremblingly  anxious  for  every  thing  which 
concerns  his  friend.  Your  father,  too,  knows 
what  nature  is  ;   he   will   not  be  deuf to  her  calL 

Arthur.  He  is  deaf  to  every  call,  but  that  of 
his  duty,  which  will  teach  him  what  he  mould 
do,  much  better  than  1  cap. 

Fairfax-.  Remember  that  you  hold  his  life  in 
your  hands. 

Arthur.  You  will  pardon  me,  Sir;  it' is  nei- 
ther in  my  hands,  nor  in  your's. 

Fairfax* 


THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER.     i& 

Fairfax.     Then  you  will  deftroy  him  ? 

Arthur.  Even  if  it  were  in  my  power  to  fave 
him,  my  blood  mould  be  the  facrifice,  not  my 
honor. 

Fairfax.  I  know  that  blood  well,  by  its  in- 
vincible pride,  Hear  me,  Arthur  ;  I  allow  you 
but  a  moment  to  form  your  refolution.  I  ihall 
return  prefently,  to  afk  you  for  the  laft  time,  if 
you  would  rather  fee  your  father  upon  a  fcaffold, 
than  in  the  road  to  fortune.  Edmond,  remain 
you  with  him,  and  try  if  your  affection  can  have 
more  influence  over  him,  than  my  pity. 

Arthur.  Your  pity,  Sir  ?  Really  it  is  very  ge*. 
nerous.  I  did  not  folicit  it.  (Fairfax  gives  him 
an  angry  look,  and  g?e$  out}  without  anfvsring  him,) 


SCENE      VII.. 

Edmond,  Arthur. 
{They  look  ai  each  other  for  fome  time,  without  fpeak* 

Arthur.  Well,  Edmond  ;  what  is  your  in- 
tention ?  To  ferve  your  father,  .will  you  perfuads 
me  to  betray  mine  ? 

Elmond.  We  know  each  other  pretty  well, 
No  ;  you  as  little  fuppofe  me  capable  of  fuch  an 
intention,  as  I  you  of  fufpecxing  me  to  entertain 
it. 

Arthur.  Be^  for  a  moment,  equally  Indifferent 
:o  friend  (hip  and  nature,  Jf  you  were,  Arthur^ 
what  would  you  do  ? 

Edmond.  I  would  ennoble  the  name,  as  you 
do,  by  exerting  the  fame  firmnefs  and  conftancy*, 


H2    THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER, 

I  mould  not  be  the  firft  to  perfuade  my  father  to 
a  bafe  action. 

Arthur,  {i  thefe  were  not  your  fentiments,  E 
flrould  hold  you  unworthy  of  my  fritndfhip. — 
Alas  !  I  know  not  whether  you  will  any  longer 
dteem  it. 

Edmond.  Whence  comes  this  injurious  fur- 
mife,  Arthur  ?  How  have  I  deferved  it  ? 

Arthur.  Pardon  me,  Edmond  ;  I  am  not  a- 
fraid  of  you.     But  who  knows  if  your  father — 

Edmond.  Ah  !  fufFer  me  to  believe  that  he 
values  your  merit  as  I  do  ;  fuftcr  me  to  efteem 
the  author  of  my  being. 

Arthur.     [{  he  ihould  forbid  you  to  love  me  ? 

Edmond.  Do  you  think,  then,  that  1  could  o- 
bey  him  ?  Have  I  not  always  regarded  you  as  a 
brother?  And  can  thefe  ties  of  amity  be  bro- 
ken, when  every  circumfiance  of  our  lives  on 
the  contrary  tends  to  ftrengthen  them  ?  My  fa- 
ther, with  all  the  authority  which  that  name 
gives,  could  not  difTolve  them. 

Arthur.  There  was  a  time  when  I  alfo  was 
beloved  by  him.  Ke  took  pleafure  in  feeing  us 
grow  up  together, '  companions  in  play  and  a- 
mufements.  How  often  has  he  made  us  prfl- 
rniie  to  live  in  ftri'cl:  unity,  as  he  was  with  his 
dear  Capel  !  Yet  you  fee  with  what  fury  he  now 
purfues  him.'  Not  fetisfied  with  his  ruin  alone, 
lie  would  cover  him  with  eternal  infamy. 

Edmond.  If  he  mould  fo  far  forget  himfelf, 
Heaven  pardon  me  the  thought,  I  mould  forget, 
I  fear,  that  I  am  his  fort. 

Arthur.  Mutt  a  name,  fo  dear,  be  the  caufe  to 
*is  of  fo  much  forrow  and  affliction  !  Why  can- 
not 


THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER,     gjg 

not  I  think,  without  terror,  of  him  who  gave  me 
life?  Alas  !  I  know  it  too  well  j  the  town  can- 
not hold  out  much  longer,  and  the  gallant  Ca- 
pel  is  too  proud  to  furrender.  If  he  does  not 
die,  overpowered  by  his  enemies,  if  he  falls  into 
their  hands  alive,  what  will  be  his  lot  ?  The 
more  courage  and  magnanimity  he  mall  have 
fhewn  during  the  fiege,  the  more  will  their  re- 
venge endeavor  to  diihonor  him,  and  one  of  the 
worthieft  men  of  this  country  will  fuffer  as ,  a 
criminal.  His  enemies  are  too  implacable  to 
forgive  him  ;  and  that  head  which  their  weapons 
could  not  reach,  tbey  will  lay  under  the  vile  axe 
of  an  executioner. 

Edmond,  (vehemently.)  No  ;  he  (hall  not  pe- 
rifti.     There  is  one  who  .will  deliver  him. 

Arthur.     Who  is  he  ? 

Edmond.      I. 

Arthur.  You,  my  dear  Edmond  ?  Alas  I 
whither  does  friendship  lead  you  aftray  ?  Its 
wiihes  are  unavailing. 

Edmond,  It  is  more. powerful  than  you  ima- 
gine. But  time  prefles,  we  can  deliberate  no 
longer.  Do  you  promiie  to  perform  whatever  I 
enjoin  you  ? 

Arthur.     All  that  honor  will  permit  me- 

Edmond.  Will  your  honor,  do  you  think, 
difallow  any  thing  that  I  (hall  propofe  ? 

Arthur.  Well,  you  have  only  to  fpeak,  and  I 
obey. 

Edmond.  Come  then,  follow  me  ;  our  two 
horfes  are  ftill  belide  the  tent.  Let  us  fly  to 
France  :  1  put  myfelf,  into  your  hands,  to  be  as 

a 


144-    THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTEHi 

a  hoftage  to  Capel,  againft  the  attempts  of  Fair- 
tax. 

Arthur.     What,  take  you -from  your  father  ? 

Edmond.  He  has  not  fcrupled  to  do  ib  by 
you. 

Arthur.  'Then  I  mall  never  be  guilty  of  an 
action  that  I- blame  in  another. 

Edmond.  But  this  would  hinder  him  from 
committing  it.  In  the  name  of  our  friendihip, 
I  conjure  you,  my  dear  Arthur,  for  my  father  s 
hkt,  for  my  own,  fave  me  from  endlei's  remorfe  ; 
fave  me  fiom  the  anguifh  of  feeing  him  ms.de 
unhappy,  by  it. 

Arthur.     Do  you  wifh  me,  then,  to  bear  it  ? 

Edmond.  You  will  have  nothing  to  reproaeh 
yourfelf  with.  My  father  himfelf,  after  his  firft 
tranfport  of  paflion  is  over,  will  blefs  you  from 
his  heart,  for  having  faved  his  honor. 

Arthur.  What  wouldil  thou  have  me  do? 
Never,  Edmond,  never. 

Edmond,  (Jeizing  his  hand.)  Come,  I'll  hear 
you  no  more ;  you  fhall  go  along  with  me.  Let 
us  fet  off  this  moment.  {Fairfax  appears^  rfbl- 
hwed  b\  fame  footers* ) 


SCENE       VIII. 

Fairfax,   Arthur,  Edmond,  Sildiers. 

Fairfax.     Hoa,  guards  !  feize  them  both. 
Arthav.     Heavens  !   my  dear  Edmond  ! 
Fairfax,    {to  Edmond.)     Ungrateful  ion  !  is  it 
thus  that  ycu  perform  my  orders  ? 
Edmond,     Did  I  promife  it  I 

Arthur. 


TEE  SIEGE  GF  COLCHESTER.    145 

Arthur,  (falling  at  his  feet.)  Ah!  Sir  Tho- 
mas !  if  honor  is  dear  to  you,  reproach  him  not 
for  difobeying  you,  or  only  punifh  him  in  trie. 
It  was  iri  compliment  to  his  friendship  for  me, 
that  he  would  have  withdrawn  himfeif  from  your 
power. 

Edmorul.  No,  father ;  believe  him  not;  his 
generofity  would  deceive  you  :  the  dengn  was 
mine,  though  he  takes  the  blame  to  himfeif.  I 
had  not  even,  I  confefs,  perfuaded  him  to  aiTent 
to  it.  You  have  no  discretion  over  him,  where- 
as I  belong  to  you.  My  liberty,  my  life  is  your's  ; 
I  yield  them  up  to  your  reientment.  If  it  falls 
on  me  alone,  you  fnall  never  hear  me  murmur. 

Fairfax.  Be  filent  ;  I  know  whom  I  am  to 
punifh.  Let  them  be  guarded  here  in  my  tent, 
apart  from  each  other. 

Arthur.  Ah  !  fuffer  me  at  leaf!  to  (hare  my 
friend's  confinement. 

Edmond,  {to  the  guards.)  No;  you  /hall  ne- 
ver tear  him  from  my  arms. 

Fairfax,  [to  the  guards.)     Obey  your  orders. 

{The  guards  fepar ate  them-,  and  lead  them  off,  in 
fpitc  of  their  refill lance.) 


SCENE      IX. 

Fairfax*,  {after  a  long  filence^  during  which  he 
appears  greatly  agitated.)  Shall  I  then  fee  my  de- 
figns  baffled  through  my  own  child  ?  His  info- 
lent  reiiftance  only  confirms  me  in  my  refolution. 
Capel,  you  (hall  find  one  as  obftinate  as  yourfelf. 
I  will  prepare  you  a  fight  that  (hall  make  your 
N  ftubbornnefs 


j46    THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER. 

ftubbornnefs  bend  bfore  my  face.  As,  through 
your  ion,  hdmond  has  dared  to  defpife  my  pow- 
er, fo  Arthur  (hall  avenge  me  onyqurfejf. 


S    C    E    N    E      X. 

Fairfax^  Surry. 

Surry.  Sir,  I  have  obeyed  your  orders  ;  yet, 
if  I  were  permitted  to  represent  to  you 

Fairfax.  It  would  be  out  of  feafon  ;  I  do 
not  defire  it. 

Surry.  A  .friend  of  Lord  Capel  is  without, 
and  would  fpeak  with  you. 

Fairfax .  Let  him  cume .in..  (Surry  goes  out, 
and  returns  with  King/ion.) 

SCENE      XL 

Fairfax y  Surryy  King (ion. 

Kingfton.  <jeneral,  the  Governor  of  Colchef- 
ter  requefts  to  know,  by  me,  if  he  can  have  the 
honor  of  a  conference. 

Fairfax.  I  (hall  always  be  ready  to  receive 
him.  I  haften  to  give  fame  orders,  that  our  con- 
vention may  not  be  interrupted.  Surry,  I 
charge  you  to  receive  Lord  Capel  with  the  .tirft 
honors  of  my  tent  ;  as  foon  as  his  lorcifhip  ar- 
rives, let  me  be  informed  of  it.  I  (hall  be  with 
Colonel  Morgan.  {Fairfax  and  King/ion  go 
out.) 

SCENE 


THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER.     147 

SCENE      XII. 
Surry,   [alone,) 

What  defign  is  he  meditating?  His  looks  are 
clouded  with  an  angry  gloom.  Even  his  Ion's 
tears  could  not  (often  him.  Does  he  intend  to 
facririce  young  Arthur  to  his  revenge  ?  I  fhudder 
at  the  thought.  Fairfax  is  generous,  but  the 
enthufiafm  that  univertally  predominates  over 
men's  reason,  in  thefe  times  of  trouble  and  dif- 
traclion,  has  already  produced  fo  many  attrocious 
adfcs  hovever,  he  (hall  not  make  me  the  partner 
of  any  fuch  ;  nor  if  he  wifhes  to  engage  me  in  a' 
bafe  action,  will  I  difguite  to  him  my  opinion  of 
its  infamy.  Yes,  i  will  fave  him,  in  fpite  of 
himfelf,  from  everything  that  can  tarnifh  his 
glory. 

SCENE      XIII. 
Cape},  King/Ion^  Surry. 

King/ion.     This  is  his  tent,  my  Lord. 

Surry,  (approaching  Capel  re fp  eel  fully.)  Brave 
defender  of  Colchefter!  allow  me  to  pay  my 
humbleft  tribute  of  refpect  to  fo  heroic  a  charac- 
ter— 

Capel.  I  thank  you,  Sir,  but  rather  wim  to 
decline  all  marks  of  honor ;  it  is  not  for  me  to 
receive  them,  while  my  Sovereign  is  in  chains. 
Where  is  General  Fairfax  ? 

N  2  Surry. 


i48    THE  SEKxE  OF  COLCHESTER, 

Surry.     I  haften  to  inform  him  of  the  arrival 
of  his  noble  enemy. 


SCENE       XIV. 
Cape  i \   King  ft  on. 

King/fan,  I  think  it  my  duty  to  obferve  tc5 
your  Jordihip,  that  every  thing  here  appears 
ftrangely  fufpicious  to  me. 

Cppely  {calmly.)  As  how,  my  friend?  Do  not 
imagine  vain  terrors. 

Kington.  Thofe  terrors  will  not  appear  fo 
vain,  if  you  reflect  but  a  moment.  Fairfax  knew 
from  me  the  moment  of  your  arrival.  Why 
not  flop  and  receive  you  himielf  ?  Why  go  out 
immediately,  under  pretence  of  giving  orders  ? 
And,  in  fhort,  why  v/as  all  his  camp  under  arms 
as  you  patted ? 

Capel.  What  do  you  think  to  infer  from  thefa 
circum (lances  ? 

King/Ion,  May  they  net  indicate  fame  fecret 
treachery  ? 

Capel,  Kingfton,  I  fear  nothing.  The  laws 
of  war  are  fa c red  m  all  nations.  Hie  moll  am- 
bitious conqueror,  the  fterneft  man  of  blood,  re- 
fpec^s  them  in  dealing  with  others,  that  others 
may  treat  him  with  reciprocal  attention, 

Kingfton.  He  who  take*  up  arms  agajnft  his 
king,  may  well  violate  his  word  to  fubjecis. 

Capel,  He  would  not  chufe  me  for  the  objecV 
pf  his  perfidy. 

fiing/lon,     But,  my  lord 

Capet 


THE  SEIGE  OF  COLCHESTER.     149 

Capel.  No,  I  know  Fairfax  :  I  have  too  high 
an  opinion  of  his  character,  to  fuppofe  him  ca- 
pable of  a  bafe  action.  Republican  enthufiafm 
may  have  perverted  his  understanding,  without 
demeaning  his  fentiments  :  though  party-differ- 
ences now  keep  us  difunited,  we  were  formerly 
intimate  friends.  I  know,  he  w  ould  (till  pride 
himfelf  in  my  efteem,  and  it  is  not  before  my 
eyes  that  he  will  deviate  from  the  ways  of  ho- 
nor. 

King/Ion.  I  hope,  my  Lord,  it  may  be  fo  ; 
but  here  he  comes.  {Capel  advance):  toward:  Fair- 
fax, with  ajleady  countenance.) 


SCENE      XV. 
Fairfax,  Capel,  Kingfton,  Surry. 

Capel.  I  cannot  give  you  a  greater  mark  of 
my  confidence,  Sir  Thomas,  than  by  coming  in- 
to your  tent  with  only  a  fingle  friend. 

Fairfax.  Since  you  think  him  worthy  of  this 
title,  he  may  be  prefent  at  our  interview. 

Capel.  Were  he  an  enemy,  I  would  not  (hrink 
from  his  teftimony.  Sir,  I  am  prepared  to  hear 
you. 

Fairfax.  I  have  to  offer  your  lordfhip,  from 
the  parliament,  every  advantage  that  confifts  with 
the  very  high  eftimation  which  they  bear  for 
your  virtues. 

Capel.  If  they  merit  any  reward,  it  is  from 
mine  and  the  parliament's  fovereign  that  I  muff, 
receive  it, 

N  3  Fairfax, 


to    THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER, 

Fairfax.  What  can  a  prince,  without  domi- 
yfions,  do  for  you  ? 

Capel.  I  mould,  perhaps,  be  lefs  zealous  in 
ftipport  of  his  interefts,  if  mine  depended  on. 
*hem  ;  but  I  am  prouder  to  ferve  him,  as  long  as 
ply  loyalty  expects  no  recompenfe. 
[  'Fairfax.  This  is  the  fentiment  of  a  great 
foul:  but  you  fee,  a  revolution  in  the  govern- 
ment is  inevitable.  Is  it  in  your  power  to  pre- 
vent it  ?  What  do  you  intend  to  oppofe  againft 
si  victorious  party  ? 

Cupel.  My  i£uty,  which  commands  me  to  be 
faithful  to  an  unfortunate  prince. 

Fairfax.  You  have  already  done  whatever 
can  be -ex  peeled  from  a  man  of  honor. 

Cupel.  No,  not  yet,  while  it  is  frill  in  my 
power  to  ferve  him.. 

Fairfax.  And  how  do  you  expect  to  do  it  ? 
the  walls  of  your  town  are  but  fo  many  heaps  of 
ruins  :  your  men  are  reduced  to  the  laft  extremi- 
ty, for  provifions. 

Capel.  They  have  ammunition  (till,  and  cou- 
rage to  make  ufe  of  it, 

Fairfax.  They  cannot  fail  in  courage,  while 
under  your  command  ;  but,  without  force,  of" 
what  fervice  will  it  be  to  them?  ColcheOer, 
(hough  defended  by  your  arm,  mult  very  foon 
Surrender, 

Cupel.  Did^it  tell  you  fo  in  laft  night's  at- 
tack ? 

Fairfax.     If  not  to-day,  it  muff  to-morrow  : 

but  to-morrow  the  parliament  will  pro&ribe  you, 

as   an   enemy  to  the  commonwealth  ;  whereas, 

they  offer  you,  through  me,  the  title  of 

duke, 


THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER,     z5i 

duke,  and  the  government  of  a  garrifon.     [Cape! 
turns  away,  and  bides  his  face  ivitb  bis  hands.) 

Fairfax.     Why  do  you  turn  away  from  me  ? 

CapeL  Left  you  mould  fee  me  blum  both  for 
you  and  for  my  country. 

Fairfax.  Be  calm,  my  Lord,  and,  confider 
my  offer,  coolly. 

CapeL  Is  it  to  be  the  only  object  of  our  eon* 
ference  ? 

Fairfax.  It  is  of  importance  enough  to  be  io5 
fince  your  fafety  depends  on  it, 

Capel,  (going.)     Farewell,  Sir  Thomas. 

Fairfax,  (ajide  )  Why  muft  I  be  obliged  to 
conftrain  myfeFf  ?  (takes  him  by  the  hand.)  Stop 
a  moment  longer.  Take  my  advice  ;  banifh 
the  blind  prejudice  of  monarchical  llavery.  Will 
you  facrirlce  to  them  the  honors  that  are  ready 
to  be  heaped  upon  you  and  your  family  ? 

CapeL  O  noble  Englishmen ■!  how  are  you 
fallen  from  your  ancient  glory  !  Your  honors 
are  fold  for  the  vile  price  of  difloyalty, 

Fairfax.  It  is  your  country  that  freely  offers 
you  thcfe  honors. 

CapeL  My  country  !  Supprefs  that  facred 
name,  if  you  can  only  blafpheme  it. 

Fairfax.  Do  you  dare  to  appeal  to  your 
country,  you  who  krve  under  her  opprertor  ? 
But  your  arm  is  henceforth  too  weak  to  throw 
chains  over  victorious  freedom.  The  throne 
totters  to  its  bafe  ;  another  day,  and  it  will  be 
levelled  to  the  ground. 

CapeL  Then  I  will  bury  myfelf  under  its  ru- 
ins, 

Fairfax* 


E$l    THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER. 

Fairfax,  The  parliament  will  drag  you  forth 
Hive,  and  condemn  you  to  an  ignominious 
death. 

CapeL  Should  I  avoid  this,  by  accepting  a 
life  of  infamy  ? 

Fairfax,  What  elfe,  then,  will  your  life  be, 
when  England,  freed  from  a  difgraceful  yoke, 
will  pronounce  your  name  with  horror ;  when 
your  wife,  involved  in  your  difhonor,  will  exe- 
crate the  hour  that  joined  her  to  you  ;  when 
\our  fon,  purfuing  you  to  the  very  fcaffold,  with' 
cries  of  defpair,  will  reproach  you  for  leaving  him 
Vo  penth  in  indigence  and  contempt  ? 

Cape!.  Audacioufnels  beyond  example!  Is 
it  you,  traiterous  fubject,  that"  would  terrify  me, 
by  difgraces  which  are  due  only  to  your  rebelli- 
on ?  No,  no,  1  /hall  have  the  good  wifhes  of  all 
honeft  men  :  my  wife  and  my  children  will  blefs 
my  memory  :  heaven  will  be  a  protector  to  my 
widow,  and  a  father  to  my  children. 

Fairfax,     1  can  bear  no  more,  vile  Have  of 
dtlpotifm.     Since  >ou  are  not  moved  by  a  regard 
to  your  own  life,  tremble  for  one  more  dear  to- 
you.    {he  calls.)  Morgan  ! 


S     C     E     N     E       XVi; 

{A  curtain  r'fes  an  I  difc overs  Arthur  in  chains,  and 
two  joldiers  befule  him,  holding  each  a  dagger  to 
his  hreajl.      Behind  themfands  A'lorgan,) 

CapiL     Heavens  !  What  do  I  fee  ?  {Fails  into 
King/Ion's  aims, 

Fairfax . 


THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER,    25; 

j'ufax.     Do  you  know  him  ? 

Capel,  (raifing  himfelf  with  indignation. )  My 
fon  in  your  power  !  Ah,  dafhrd,  not  by  force 
of  arms. 

Fairfax.  Surrender,  and  T  reftore  him  to  you, 
There  is  no  other  way  left.  Do  you  wifh  to 
fave  his  life  ? 

Capel.  Yes,  traitor,  by  your  death,  (laying  his 
hand  haftily  upon  his  /word.) 

Morgan,  if  you  ftir,  my  Lord,  you  and  your 
fan  are  ruined. 

Arthur.  Father,  let  nothing  fcop  your  arm* 
Avenge  yourfelf.     Your  fon  is  not  afraid  to  die, 

Capel^    (Jbeathing  his  fwordy  zvhich  he  had  half 
drawn.)     Barbarian  !   I  fay  nothing  of  our  for- 
mer friendship ;  it  fubfifts  no  more,  fince  your 
treafonous  revolt  ;    I  afk  no  favor  from  you  j 
but  what  has  this  innocent  victim  done  ? 

Fairfax.  He  has  defied  nle,  but  a  few  mi- 
nutes ago,  with  as  much  haughtinefs  as  his  fa^ 
ther. 

Capel.  You  mail  hear  him  again  defy  your 
threats,  and  your  executioners.  O,  my  beloved 
Arthur,  why  am  !  not  permitted  to  embrace  you 
for  fo  well  defer ving  my  affection  ! 

Kingflon,  (to  Fairfax.)  How,  Sir  Thomas, 
would  you  fully  your  renown  for  ever,  by  the 
murder  of  a  child  ? 

Fairfax.  It  is  his  cruel  father  who  devotes 
him  to  death,  not  I.  He  has  only  to  blame  his 
favage  obftinacy.  Let  him  furrender  to  me  a 
town  which  he  cannot  defend,  and  I  give  him  up 
his  fon;j  Qthecwife  he  muft  die,  to  ftrike  a  terror 

into 


>54    THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER. 

into  thofe  cowardly  (laves,  who  would  turn  their 
backs  on  freedom,  when  (he  rears  her  ftandard. 

Cape/,    (to  Arthur^  with  earnejlnefs.)     My  fon,v 
let  this,  then,  bt  your  mottc  -y  "  God  and  your 
prince." 

Surry,  (ofirfe*)  I  will  not  fuffer  this  deteftable 
faenrice  to  be  made,  if  it  colts  me  my  Jife.  (goes- 
oat.) 


SCENE       XVII. 
Fairfax,  Capcl,  Arthur,  Morgan,  Kinglhn,  foldierti 

( Capcl  and  Arthur  look  at   each  other  affectionately^ 
and  with  open  arms.)  . 

Cupel.  Arthur,  my  dear  Arthur,  what  (hall  I 
fay  to  your  difconfolate  mother  r 

King/ton.  Ah,  rn'y  Lord,  will  you  fuffer  hrm 
then  to  be  thus  mafTacrcvI  ! 

Capel.  What  would  you  do,  Kingfton  ?  Would 
you  fhake  my  refolution,  when  )ou  Ihould 
ftrengthen  it?  It  is  fufficienf  to  contend  againft 
nature. 

Fairfax.  You  have  but  a  few  minutes,  my 
Lord  Capeft 

Capd.  Then  why  prolong  my  anguifii  ?  Suf- 
fer me  to  depart  ;  1  would  not  expire  before  your 

c)CS. 

Morgan.  Arthur,  have  you  nothing  to  fay  to 
your  father  ? 

Arthur,  [with  firmnefs.)  Nothing.  He  knows 
what  pafies  in  my  breafL 

Morgan, 


THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER.     155 

Morgan,  {to  thefoldiets.)  Be  .ready  at  the  fig- 
nal. 

CapeL  Farewell,  my  Ton.  Once  more,  VGod 
and  your  prince.'  I  only  furvive  you  a  little 
while,  to  revenge  your  death,   {turns  to  go,) 

Fairfax,  {aftde.)  Inflexible  virtue,  which  I 
am  forced  to  admire  in  fpite  of  myfelf !  (aloxd.) 
gut  what  do  I  fee  ? 


:sS    C    E.N    E      XVIil. 

Fairfax,  Capel,  Edmond,  Arthur,  Morgan^ingilon^ 
Surry,  foldiers. 

Edmund^  (entering  precipitately,  and  throwing  his 
arms  round  Arthur.)  O  Arthur,  my  friend,  you 
fjiall  not  die,  without  me. 

Fairfax.     What  are  you  doing,  my  fon  ? 

Edmdnd.  Call  me  no  more  by  a  name  which 
I  deteft.  Satiate  your  barbarity.  You  hays 
another  victim  mote, 

Fairfax.  Infolent !  who  has  brought  you 
hither  ? 

Surry.  It  was  I,  Sir  Thomas  :  I  "forced  his 
place  of  confinement,  and  boaft  of  the  action. 

Edmond,  {to  Fairfax.)  You  alone  are  de(ii~ 
tute  of  pity,  {to  the  foldiers,)  but  I  afk  none  from 
y.pu  :   hafle  to  ftrike.     Why  do  you  tremble  ? 

Arthur,  {endeavoring  to  dif engage  himf elf  from 
Edmond.)  Let  me  go,  my  dear  friend,  why 
fhould  you  make  death  more  painful  to  me  ? 

Edmond* 


.  ?56    THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER. 

Edmond.  I  mall  not  quit  you  :  I  will  not  fur- 
vive  my  friend,  when  i  have  loft  him  who  mould 
be  my  father. 

Cape/,  (to  Fairfax.)  You  would  rob  me  of 
my  fon  :  I  have  my  revenge,  as  you  are  renoun- 
ced by  your  own. 

Edmond.  Let  me  hold  you  ftill  clofe  to  my 
heart,  my  dear  Arthur.  I  will  die  by  the  fame 
blow. 

•    Cape!.     You  fee,   then,  Fairfax,   nothing  re- 
mains but  that  you  ftrike  the  blow  yourfelf. 

Fairfax.  Enough,  Capel,  I  am  conquered  : 
Edmond,  take  off  your  friend's  chains,  and  re- 
store him  to  his  father.  My  hands  are  not  wor- 
thy to  touch  that  young  hero.  [Morgan  and  the 
two  foidiers  retire.) 

Arthur.  Deareft  Edmond,  to  you,  then,  I 
owe  my  life  ! 

Edmond.  O  my  friend  !  {He  takes  off  his 
chains,  and  leads  him  to  Cape!^  who  embraces  them 
both.) 

Arthur.     My  dear  father  1 

Edmond.     My  noble  friend  ! 

Cape!,  (looking  zvith  fondrufs  at  each  of  them  al- 
ternately.) Give  me,  both  of  you,  the  fame 
name,  my  dear  children  :  you  are  now  both  e- 
qually  dear  to  m«. 

Edmond,    (feeing  his  father  in  tears,   quits  Lord 
Cape! 's  arms,  and  throws  hinfelf  at  the  feet  of  Fair- 
fax.)    I  now  find  my  father  again.    Ah,  do  not 
rob  me  of  thole  tears :  be  witnefs,  Lord  Capel, 
Arthur,  Surry,  my  father  weeps. 

Fairfax,  (raifiucr  him.)  My  deareft  Edmond, 
I  will  never  forget  that  you  have  fayed  me  from 

a 


THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER.    i5; 

a  difgraceful  action,  {prefenting  him  to  Arthur. ) 
Continue  to  love  each  other,  and  may  your  vir- 
tuous friendship  be  defUned  to  fiourifh  in  happi- 
er times  than  your  fathers  have  feen.  {To  Ca- 
peL)  My  Lord,  you  are  free  to  return  into  the 
town  :  my  admiration  accompanies  you.  Would 
to  heaven^  that  I  were  alio  worthy  of  your  ef- 
teem. 

Arthur^  (To  Cape/,  taking  his  hand.)  O  father, 
let  us  never  part  again.  1  will  go  and  light  by 
your  fide. 

Capel,  You  have  done  enough  for  your  caufe ; 
your  name  .alone  will  be  the  .firmeft  fupport  of 
Colchcfter.  What  foldier,  who  fliall  hear  of 
jour  courage  aud  refolution,  will  ever  be  fo  bafe 
,as  to  fpeak  of  furrendering  ! 

Arthur.  Let  my  anions  give  proof  of  that 
courage,     I  rnufr.  go  with  you. 

Capel,  No,  my  boy.  Alas  !  that  cannot  be  : 
Farewell ;  it  is,  perhaps,  the  lail  time  that  I  (hall 
-ever  embrace  you.  My  duty  is  to  go  and  face 
-death,  for  my  country  ;  your's  is  to  live,  that  you 
may  one  day  ferve  it  better,  in  the  full  maturity 
•of  life,  than  you  can  at  prefent.  {To  Fairfax,) 
After  what  has  paffed,  Fairfax,  I  have  nothing  to 
fear  on  your  part,  therefore  I  leave  my  fon  to 
your  care,  fatisiied  as  I  am  that  you  will  fend  him 
back  to  his  mother,  and,  in  the  mean  time,  1  hafte 
to  wait  your  coming  on  the  breach. 
Q 


SEQUEL. 


158    THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER. 


S     E     CL  U     E     L. 

Cromwell,  who  was  fent  by  General  Fairfax 
to  pppofe  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  and  Sir  Mar- 
maduke  Langdale,  having  defeated  thofe  two  ge- 
nerals fuccemvely,  and  taken  the  duke  prilbner, 
and  the  Earl  of  Holland  having  alfo  been  defeat- 
ed, and  made  prifoner,  by  another  detachment  of 
the  parliament-army  ;  the  inhabitants  of  Col- 
cheiter,  who  only  held  out,  in  hopes  of  being  re- 
lieved, faw  themfelves,  at  length,  reduced  to  the 
necemty  of  capitulating :  they  deputed  perfons 
to  Fairfax,  to  treat  of  the  furrender  of  the  town 
upon  honorable  terms  ;  but  he,  provoked  at  the 
obftinacy  of  their  defence,  offered  them  no  other 
than  to  iurrender  at  difcretion.  Upon  receiving 
this  anfvver,  the  befieged  fpent  two  days  more  in 
confultation  :  the  firft  refolution  taken  by  the  of- 
ficers, was,  to  force  their  way  through  the  ene- 
s  camp,  fword  in  hand  ;  but  the  few  horfes, 
which  their  hunger  had  fpared,  were  found  too 
weak  for  this  attempt :  on  the  other  hand,  the 
foldiers,  exhaufted  with  fatigue,  were  unable  to 
fuftain  another affault ;  (o  that  they  were  obliged, 
at  length,  to  open  the  gates  to  Fairfax,  and  $o 
fubmit  to  the  conditions  that  he  fhould  think 
proper  to  impofe  on  them. 

He  fuffered  the  foldiers  to  depart,  but  without 
arms  or  baggage  ;  but  the  officers  he  ordered  to 
be.confinedin  the  town-hall,  and  a  lift  of  their 
name,s  to  be  fent  to  him.  Ireton,  whom  Crom- 
well, 


THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER.     159 

well,  in  his  abfence,  had  left  as  a  fpy  upon  the 
unfufpecling  general,  chofe  out  of  this  lift  fuch 
as  were  more  particularly  his  enemies,  in  order 
that  they  might  be  put  to  death.  Sir  Charles 
Lucas,  therefore,  Sir  G.  Lifle,  and  Sir  Barnard 
Gafcoyne,  were  brought  before  the  council  of 
war,  where  Fairfax  declared  to  them,  that  for  a, 
punifhment  of  their  obftinate  refiftance,  and  a 
warning  example  to  all  others  who  mould  be  in- 
clined to  imitate  it,  they  were  fentenced  to  die3 
that  very  day,  at  the  foot  of  the  caftle- walls. 

When  this  fentence  was  communicated  to  the 
other  prifoners,  Lord  Capel  prevailed  upon  an 
officer  of  the  guard  which  was  over  them,  to  de- 
liver to  the  council  of  war  a  letter  figned  by  the 
principal  officers,  intreatmg  them  to  revoke  their 
cruel  fentence,  or  elfe  to  extend  it  to  all  the  pri- 
foners, who  blufhed  to  fee  themfelves  excepted 
from  it.  This  generous  requeft  had  no  other  ef-' 
feci:,  than  to  haften  the  execution  of  their  unfor- 
tunate companions. 

Sir  Charles  Lucas,  who  was  the  firft  officer 
mot,  gave  the  fignal  to  his  murderers  to  fire,  with 
as  much  coolnefs  as  he  would  have  delivered  the 
word  of  command  to  his  own  men.  Lille,  fee- 
ing him  fall,  ran  to  him,  and  embraced  his  dead 
body,  and  then  rifing,  looked  with  a  ftern  air 
upon  the  foldiers  by  whom  he  was  to  be  fhot5 
and  ordered  them  to  come  nearer.  One  of  them 
anfwered  him,  that  they  were  near  enough,  and 
that  they  mould  not  mifs  him.  My  friends,  re- 
plied he,  frniling,  I  have  been  nearer  to  you,  and 
yet  you  have  miffed  me. 

O2  ?'r 


160    THE  SEiGE  OF  COLCHESTER, 

Sir  B.  Gafcoyne,  or  Guafconi,  a  Florentine 
gentleman,  was  fpared  by  the  council  of  war, 
under  the  apprehenfion  left  the  Grand  Duke  of 
Tufcany,  informed  of  fuch  a  violation  of  the 
laws  of  war,  mould  retort  upon  the  Englifh  who 
might  be  found  in  his  dominions. 

After  the  execution  of  Lille  and  Lucas,  Ge- 
neral Fairfax,  accompanied  by  G.  Ireton,  went 
to  the  town-hall  to  fee  the  prifoners.  In  ad- 
dreffing  himfelf  to  the  Earl  of  Norwich  and 
Lord  Capel,  he  endeavored,  with  a  foothing  ci- 
vility, to  excufe  the  rigour  which  military  jultice 
had  exacted  from  him.  But  Lord  Capel,  who 
looked  upon  Ireton  as  the  fole  inftigator  of  this 
barbarity,loaded  him  with  the  bittereft  reproaches, 
which,  however,  the  latter  very  foon  found  an 
opportunity  of  revenging. 

The  parliament  having  ordered  the  Lords. 
Norwich  and  Capel  to  be  confined  in  Windfor 
Caftle,  they  found  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  there 
before  them,  with  whom  they  had  the  melancho- 
ly fatisfaclion  of  deploring  their  misfortunes  in 
common.  They  were  foon,  however,  removed" 
to  the  Tower,  there  to  await  the  deftiny  which, 
parliament  mould  think  proper  to  allot  to  them. 

About  a  month  after  King  Charles  I.  was  be- 
headed, another  high  court  of  juftice  was  formed 
for  the  trial  of  thefc  three  noblemen,  as  alfo  of 
the  Earl  of  Holland  and  Sir  John  Owen,  who 
had  taken  an  active  part  in  Wales,  in  favor  of 
the  king,  and  killed,  with  his  own  hand,  a  merifF 
of  the  oppollte  party. 

Lord  Capel  appeared  with  the  greateft  firmnefs 
snd  dignity  in  the  prefence  of  his  judges,  and  re- 

fufed 


THE  8EIGE  OF  COLCHESTER.     161 

fufed  to  acknowledge  their  authority  ;  alledging, 
that  as  a  foldier  and  a  prifoner  of  war,    he  was, 
not  amenable  to 'the  civil  law.      Upon  which 
Bradfhaw,  who  was  prefident  of  the  court,   an- 
fwered  him  with  unfeeling  infolence,  by  alluding 
to  their  form  of  proceeding    againft  the  king, 
c<  that  they  had  tried  a  much  better  man   than 
his  lordthip."      After    fome   debates,  in  which 
Ireton  broke  out  with  all  the  violence  and  fury 
of  his  natural   difpofition,  fentence  was   palled 
upon  Lord  Capel  and  the  other  prifoners.   ^They 
were  all  condemned  to  lofe  their  heads  ;   upon 
which  it  is  faid,  that  Sir  John  Owen  made  the 
judges  a  low  bow,  and  thanked  them   for  the 
high  honor  which  they  conferred  on  him,  in  or- 
dering him,  who  was  but  a  poor  Welch  gentle- 
man, to  lofe  his  head  in  company  with  noblemen 
of  fo  considerable  rank  ;  adding,  that  his  greateft 
fear  had  been,  left  the  common  hangman  mould 
have   terminated    his   deftiny.      The   prifoners 
were  allowed  but  three  days  to  fet  their  affairs  in 
order,  and  to  prepare  for  death. 

Lady  Capel  employed  this  lhort  fpace  in  draw- 
ing up  a  petition  to  be  laid  before  parliament  ; 
when  read,  it  was  very  ftrongly  fupported  by  fe- 
veral  members,  who  fpoke  in  the  higher!  terms 
of  Lord  Capei's  many  and  eminent  virtues.  E- 
ven  Cromwell  praifed  his  lordihip  fo  highly,  and 
profefTed  fo  much  refpect  and  friendfhip  for  him, 
that  every  one  expected  him  to  be  inclined  in  his 
favor,  -when  he  added,  in  a  hypocritical  earning 
tone,  that  his  zeal  for  the  public  caufe  got  the 
better  of  all  his  private  affections  ;  that  he  knew 
Lord  Capel  to  be  the  laft  man  in  England  who 
O  3  would 


i6a    THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER. 

would  abandon  the  royal  party  ;  that  his  inflex- 
ibility of  principle,  his  experience  and  valor,  the 
number  and  attachment  of  his  friends,  made  him 
the  mo  ft  formidable  enemy  that  parliament  had  ; 
that  as  long  as  he  lived,  let  him  be  reduced  to 
whatfoever  condition  he  might,  they  would  find 
him  always  a  thorn  in  their  fides  ;  and  he  con- 
cluded with  protefting,  that  his  conscience,  and 
the  interefts  of  the  commonwealth,  impofed  it 
on  him  as  a  duty  to  give  his  vote  againft  the  pe- 
tition. 

The  implacable  Ireton  vented  his  hatred  and 
animofity  with  lefs  difguife  :  he  vehemently  main- 
tained, in  the  houfe  of  commons,  the  fentence 
which  he  had  procured  to  be  pafled  in  the  high 
court  of  juftice.  Though  there  was  not  a  fingle- 
perfon  who  knew  Lord  Caper's  character,  but 
entertained  the  higheft  efteem  and  veneration  for 
him,  and  very  few  who  had  any  fubjeft  of  per- 
fonal  quarrel  againft  him,  yet  Cromwell  and  Ire- 
ton  thus  appearing  his  declared  enemies,  thejuf- 
tice  due  to  his  virtues,  and  the  companion  which- 
his  misfortunes  ini'pired,  were  put  to  filence  by 
the  terror  of  thofe  two  names,  and  his  fate  was 
given  up  to  their  revenge. 

Of  the  number  condemned,  the  Earl  of  Nor- 
wich  and    Sir  John  Owen   received    a  pardon. 
The   former  having  prefented  a  petition  to  par- 
liament, the  houfe  divided  upon  it,  and  the  num- 
bers on  both  fides  were  found  to  be  equal  >  the 
.  therefore,  whofe  vote  was  to  determine 
:  s  defliny,  having  formerly  been  under  o- 
>ns  to  him,  was  induced,  from  a  motive  of 
ide,  to  fave  his  life. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  COLCHESTER.     163 

Sir  John  Owen  was  fa  indifferent  about  his, 
that  he  had  not  fo  much  as  thought  of  petition- , 
Jug*  Ireton  whimfically  made  this  very  negli- 
gence a  plea  in  his  favor,  when  he  moved  the 
houfe  to  fpare  his  life,  He  thought,  perhaps,  by 
this  exception,  to  offer  a  frefh  infult  to  the  three 
noblemen,  and  to  make  their  death  more  grat- 
ing, by  fhewing  them  a  private  perfon  faved 
from  the  rigour  of  his  fentence,  without  ever  pe- 
titioning, while  their  applications  were  fo  con- 
temptuoufly  rejected. 

A  fcaffold  was  therefore  erected  under  the 
windows  of  the.  parliament  houfe.  After  the 
Duke  of  Hamilton  and  the  Earl  of  Holland  had 
fuffered,  Lord  Capel  was  called  :  he  walked 
down  Weftminfler  HaN  with  a  ferene  counte- 
nance and  a  firm  ftep,  faluting  his  acquaintances 
with  dignity.  Dr.  Morley,  his  friend,  who  had 
.not  quitted  him,  from  the  moment  of  his  con- 
demnation, was  felicitous  to  accompany  him 
now,  that  he  might  receive  his  Iaft  commands  : 
but  he  was  Mopped  by  the  foldiers,  at  the  foot  of 
the  fcaffold.  '  My  lord  took  leave  of  him,  em- 
braced him  affectionately,  thanked  him  for  all 
his  attentions,  and  would  not  fuffer  him  to  go 
any  further,  left  he  mould  be  expofed  to  the  bru- 
tality of  the  guards.  Advancing  then  towards 
the  edge  of  the  fcaffold,  he  looked  round  him 
with  a  placid  countenance,  and  afked  whether 
the  other  lords  had  fpoken  to  the  people  unco- 
vered, and  being  anfwered  in  the  affirmative,  he 
gave  his  hat  to  one  of  the  attendants  to  hold  ; 
then,  with  a  clear  bold  voice,  he  declared  that  he 
came  to  iofe  his  life  for  an  action  which  he  could 

never 


i64  THE     L  A  W  S  U  I  T. 

ncverrfpent  of;  that  having  been  brought  up 
in  principles  of  attachment  to  the  conftirution  of 
his  country,  loyalty  to  his  fovereign,  and  fidelity 
to  his  religion,  he  had  never  violated  any  of  thefe 
principles  ;  that  he  was  now  condemned  to  die, 
contrary  to  all  the  laws  of  the  realm,  and  that, 
neverthelefs,  he  fubmitted  to  this  unjuft  fentence. 
He  then  enlarged,  upon  the  praifes  of  that 
king  whom  they  had  recently  murdered,  and  be- 
fought  heaven  not  to  avenge  this  crime  on  the 
deluded  nation.  He  concluded,  with  earneftly 
exhorting  them  to  acknowledge  the  lbn  of 
Charles  as  their  rightful  fovereign.  Laftly,  after 
a  fhort  and  fervent  prayer,  he  ftretched  his  neck 
to  the  fatal  blow,  which  deprived  England  of  the 
moft  virtuous  citizen  that  the  had  left  her. 


THE     L  A  W  S  U  I  T. 

FARMER  BLUNT,  when  he  died,  left  two 
Ions,  the  one  named  Roger,  the  other  Hum- 
phrey. His  death  put  them  in  pofleffion  of 
farms  fufficiently  advantageous  to  afford  them  a 
decent  competency.  V crj  little  was  wanting  to 
their  happinefs.  Alas  !  then,  why  could  they 
not  live  in  that  harmony  and  good  underftand- 
ftandinn  which  N"-'  -  '  (hould  fubfifl  be- 

tween brothers,  when  the  formed  them  or  the 

fame  blood  ? 

Among 


THE     LAWSUIT.  165 

Among  the  poffeffions  left  by  their  father,  was 
3  very  fine  orchard,  which  he  had  cultivated  in 
his- life  time  with  particular  care.  As  it  bore, 
moft  years,  a  prodigious  quantity  of  apples,  re- 
markable for  making  the  beft  cyder,  it  appeared 
to  both  the  brothers  a  very  defirable  lot ;  but, 
unfortunately,  in  the  partition  of  their  father's 
lands  made  by  his  will,  the  property  of  this  was 
left  undetermined. 

Each,,  therefore,  claimed  the  porTefiion  of  it, 
and  obftinately  periifted  in  fupporting  that  claim. 
They  no  longer  fpoke  to  each  other  in  amicable 
terms  ;  on  the  contrary,  their  mutual  obftinacy 
degenerated  on  both  fides  into  a  confirmed  ha- 
tred. You  are  not  an  honeft  man,  faid  Roger, 
for  claiming  what  is  my  property,  and  you  do 
not  deferve  to  be  matter  of  fo  good  a  piece  of 
ground.  Humphrey,  in  a  rage,  would  anfwer, 
it  well  becomes  you  to  talk  fo,  lazy  fellow  as  yoa 
are  :  Have  you  not  always  made  my  father  un- 
happy, by  your  drunkennefs  ?  What  would  be- 
come of  thofe  trees,  in  your  idle  hands  ?  In  two 
or  three  years  the  orchard  would  not  be  worth 
fixpence. 

The  curate  of  the  village  being  informed  of 
their  quarrel,  went  to  them,  and  expostulated 
with  thefti  in  the  moft  friendly  manner.  What 
are  you  doing,  my  friends  ?  faid  he  ;  wherefore 
are  you  weary  of  living  happily  together  ?  Shall 
this  orchard  be  the  means  of  difuniting  you  ? 
Why  not  rather  join  your  induftry  to  improve  it, 
m$  afterwards  divide  the  produce  ? 


i66  T  H  E     L  A  V;  3  U  I  T. 

I  do  not  intend  any  fuch  thing,  faid  one,  I 
will  have  it  all  to  myfelf,  We  (hall  fee  that,  re- 
plied the  other,  I  think  /{hall  have  it. 

Well,  then,  faid  the  clergyman,  let  the  moft 
reafonable  of  you  refign  his  claim,  upon  receiv- 
ing a  fuitable  confideration  from  the  other. 

With  all  mv  heart,  cried  they,  both  at  once, 
let  my  brother  give  it  up  to  me.  I  have  moft 
right  to  it,  faid  the  eldeft.  It  belongs  to  my 
farm,  faid  the  youngeft. — Oh,  1  am  refolved  to 
have  it,  now  [  have  once  taken  it  in  my  head.—- 
You  may  take  it  out  again,  if  you  will  3  I  would 
fooner  give  you  my  right  hand. 

Since  you  are  both  fo  obftinate,  faid  the  cu- 
rate, and  cannot  agree  together,  will  you  leave 
the  cleci'fion  of  the  matter  to  fortune,  anddifpofe 
of  it  by  Jot  ?  No,  I  will  rifle  nothing,  faid  Hodge. 
Nor  I,  neither,  faid  Numps.  La  ft  of  all,  the 
gentleman  propofed  to  them  to  fell  the  orchard} 
and  divide  the  money  j  but  this  propofal  alfo  was 
equally  rejected  on  both  fides, 

I  feei  faid  the  worthy  clergyman,  nothing  can 
overcome  your  obftinacy  :  you  will  loon  find  the 
miferable  effects  of  mutual  hatred  in  hearts, 
which  were  intended  by  nature  to  be  dear  to 
each  other. 

The  brothers  did  not  trouble  themfcives  about 
this  prophecy,  but  each  of  them  vent  to  the 
man  of  law  whom  he  thought  molt  capable  of 
fetring  off  his  claim  to  advantage.  Thus  began 
a  lawfuir,  which  feemed  eafy  enough  to  be  deci- 
ded, but  was  kept  on  foot,  neverthelefs,  for  five 
whole  years;  the  counfel  on  both  fides  being 
veterans  in  the  buiinefs.     If  o^e  party  put  in  a 

plea] 


THE     LA  W  S  U  I  T.  167 

plea,  the  other  intercepted  it  with  a  demurrer.  It 
was,  every  term,  frefh  writs,  declarations^  and  re~ 
joinders.  The  orchard  all  this  while,  we  may 
fuppofe,  was  notfo  well  cultivated  as  in  the  time 
of  honeft  Farmer  Blunt  :  thofe  fine  apple-trees 
were  neglected,  and  did  not  produce  near  their 
ufual  quantity.  Horfes  and  pigs  were  fuffered 
to  break,  in  and  damage  them  ;  Humphrey,  who 
had  the  orchard  in  his  hands,  being  too  much 
taken  up  with  his  Iawfuit  to  attend  to  the  culture 
of  it. 

-  They  were  both  married  to  very  amiable  wo- 
men, and  had  many  children,  in  whom  they 
would  have  been  perfectly  happy,  had  their  minds 
been  more  at  eafe. 

Each  of  their  wives  would  fometimes  accoft 
them  thus  :  My  dear  hufband,  why  are  you  fo 
uneafy  ?  We  have  every  thing  that  our  hearts 
can  wifh ;  Have  we  not  ?  You  are  in  very  good 
health,  fo  am  I.  Our  little  family  goes  on 
charmingly;  then  we  have  an  excellent  farm  ; 
and,  you  know,  it  is  your  own  fault  if  you  do 
not  make  money  by  it.  Why  will  you  not  chufe 
to  be  happy  ?  Each  of  them  would  mutter  be- 
tween his  teeth,  and  anfwer,  How  can  I  be  hap- 
py, while  I  have  fuch  a  good-for-nothing  bro- 
ther ?  His  injuftice  and  obftinacy  are  poifon  to 
my  happinefs. 

-  When;,  at  their  return  from  the  field,  they  faw 
their  children  running  joyfully  towards  them, 
they  would  cry  out  to  them,  before  they  came 
near,  What  do  you  want  with  me  \  Get  away* 
I  am  not  in  a  humour,  now,  to  mind  your  tricks  5 
I  am  too  angry  :  and  if  the  poor  children  ftrove 

to 


168  THE     LAWS  U  I  T« 

to  foften  them,  by  their  innocent  fondnefs,  they 
would  pufh  them  away  hardily,  and  fometimes 
give  them  very  yiolent  blows. 

At  table,  nothing  could  pleafe  them,  becaufe 
their  hearts  were  rilled  with  gall ;  and,  in  bed,  it 
was  out  of  their  power  to  fleep,  becaufe  they 
were  eternally  thinking  how  to  hurt  each  other. 

Perhaps  you  may  fuppofe  that  I  have  now  told 
the  worft.  Alas  !  no.  From  ill-will  they  were 
carried  to  flander  and  calumny  :  each  ftrove  how 
to  blacken  thecharadler  of  his  brother  the  mod. 
If  Numps  happened  to  be  in  company  with  o- 
ther  farmers,  he  would  ftrive  to  perfuade  them 
that  Hodge  was  a  very  bad  man,  who  labored  to 
ruin  him  rirft,  and  would  then  go  to  law  with 
every  man  in  the  pariih.  And  as  Hodge,  for  his 
part,  was  not  backward  in  faying  much  the  far.ie 
of  Humphrey,  the  end  of  it  was,  that  people  be- 
lieved them  both :  fo  that,  in  fhort,  they  were 
fhunoed  by  every  body,  as  dangerous  perfors  -9 
and  there  was  not  one  of  their  neighbours  who 
did  not  wifh  to  fee  the  village  fairly  rid  of  them. 

After  five  years  of  jarring  and  brawling  at 
law,  judgment  was  given  ;  and  he  who  gained 
the  caufe,  faw  himfelf  obliged,  very  foon,  to  fell 
not  only  the  orchard,  but  the  greater  part  of  his 
farms,  to  pay  the  expenfes  of  the  fuit. 

I  leave  you  to  guefs  how  the  lofer  came  off., 
In  fact,  the  confufion  of  them  both  may  more 
eafily  be  imagined  than  defcribed. 

Well,  faid  Numps,  we. have  both  of  us  defer- 
ved  this.  It  was  in  our  own  power  to  have  a- 
voided  it.  We  might  Aill  have  had  our  farms 
and  our  money.     Inftead  of  all  the  trouble  that 


THE     LAWSUIT.  tf$ 

^e  have  each  caufed  the  other,  we  fhould  have 
-nude  oae  another,  as  well  as  our  own  families, 
•happy,  and  have  giined  the  friend(hip  and  efteem 
of  our  neighbors. 

See,  fa  id  Modge,  all  this  we  have  loft  by  cur 
folly.     Ah!   if  things  were  to  begin  again  ! 

Marry,  faid  Nu'ropjS,  let  us  be  wifer  for  the  fu- 
ture. Come,  brother,  here  is  my  hand,  I  will 
never  be  your  enemy  as  long  as  I  live. 

Nor  I  your's,  replied  Hodge,  taking  his  hand. 
So  faying,  they  both  (lied  tears,  and  the' bitter- 
nefs  of  hitr.ed  departed  from  their  hearts. 

They  very  foon  found  themfelves  much  eafier 
in  living  opon  friendly  terms  with  each  other; 
but  the  ill  effects  of  their  former  perverienefs 
they  were-deftined.to  feel  for  a  long  time.  They 
faw  their  orchard,  which  had  been  the  poileiTion 
of  their  family  for  fome  generations,  turn  to 
good  account  in  the  hands  of  ftrangers,  while  the 
little  that  remained  to  them  of  their  own  farms 
took  fome  time'to  recover  from  the  ill-manage- 
ment of  five  years.  Befides,  deiifion  was  fwift 
to  purfue  them  in  the  village,  while  confidence 
and  amity  returned  to  them  vvirh  a  flow  pace. 
The  alacrity  of  their  advocates,  in  receiving  the 
fee,  had  thinned  their  purfes,  while  fatigue,  fret- 
tingj  and  large  draughts  of  unwholefome  law, 
impaired  their  health.  Even  their  children  did 
not  now  falute  them  with  the  free  unconfhained 
affection  which  appears  in  the  children  of  the 
virtuous  and  the  benevolent.  And  their  wives — 
Alas  !  it  was  fome  time  before  they  could  view 
their  hufbands  with  the  tendernefs  of  former 
\ears. 

P  LOST 


(     *7°    ) 


LOST   TIME   RECOVERED. 

LORENZO'S  parents  were  fo  much  engaged 
in  the  way  of  bufmefs,  that  they  found  it 
impofiible  to  fuperintend  his  education  them- 
felves.  They  had  heard  of  a  remarkably  good 
fchool,  where  a  number  of  young  pcribns  had 
been  bred,  who  were  diftinguifhed  for  their  im- 
provement in  learning,  and  for  the  principles  of 
honour  which  they  had  imbibed.  Though  it 
was  upwards  of  a  hundred  miles  from  his  houfe, 
yet  Lorenzo's  father  fent  him  thither,  recom- 
mending him,  in  the  ftrongeft  terms,  to  the 
matter  This  gentleman,  who  regarded  each 
of  his  pupils  as  his  own  Ion,  fpared  no  pains  to 
correct  his  faults,  to  encourage  him  to  ftudy,  and 
to  implant  fentiments  of  honour  and  gcnerofity 
in  his  young  bread.  The  perfons  alio,  whom 
he  had  chofen  to  aflift  him  in  thefe  labours,  ex- 
erted their  uimofr.  to  promote  the  fame  laudable 
purpofes. 

Yet  thefe  endeavours,  fo  affectionately  under- 
taken in  his  favour,  were  not  fo  fuccefsful  as 
might  naturally  be  hoped  :  Lorenzo  was  of  areft- 
Iefs,  inconftant  difpofition,  and  would  forget  the 
fenfiblc  advice  which  was  given  him,  even  at  the 
very  moment  that  he  received  it.  In  the  hours 
slotted  to  ftudy,  he  Tuffered  his  thoughts  to 
wander  in  fuch  a  manner,  as  not  to  poffefs  the 
fmalleft  attention  for  the  leffons  of  his  mafters. 

All 


LOST  TIME  RECOVERED.        17* 

All  his  occupations  were  facrificed  to  the  moft 
frivolous  amufements  ;  and  he  (hewed  the  fame 
negligence  in  the  care  of  his  perfon  and  his  books. 
His  clothes  were  always  in  diforder  ;  and,  not- 
withflanding  his  agreeable  face  and  figure,  one 
could  not  approach  him,  without  feeling  a  certain 
diftafte  arife,  on  feeing  fo  much  flovenlinefs. 

It  is"  eafy  to  conceive  how  prejudicial  this  in- 
attention was  to  his  advancement  in  learning. 
All  his  clafs-fellows  left  him  far  behind.  There 
•was  not  one,  even  to  the  fmalleft,  who  came  to 
the  fchool  long  after  him,  who  did  not  look  upon 
him  with  contempt,  as  they  were,  every  day? 
©utftripping  him.  Whenever  any  ftrangers  of 
condition  vifited  the  houfe,  he  was  always  fent 
out  of  the  way,  left  his  fhabbinefs  and  wild  ap- 
pearance mould  difgrace  his  companions.  He 
never  appeared  in  the  public  yearly  examinations 
that  were  held  in  the  fchool :  his  ignorance  would 
have  been  confidered  as  a  reproach  to  theefta- 
blifhment. 

All  thefe  humiliating  circumftances  made  no 
impreffion  on  him  :  ftill  he  continued  in  the  fame 
levity,  the  fame  diffipation,  the  fame  negligence. 
His  teachers  beheld  him  with  a  fort  of  inward 
regret ;  and  their  zeal  for  his  improvement  grew, 
every  day,  cooler  and  cooler.  They  would 
often  fay  to  each  other,  Poor  Lorenzo  !  how 
unhappy  he  will  makehimfelf!  What  will  his 
parents  fay,  when  they  fee  him  return  home  fo 
full  of  ill  habits,  and  fo  deiicient  in  learning  ? 

Two  whole  years  had  thus  flipped  away,  with- 
out the  leaf*  profit  to  his  education;  when,  at 
P  2  the 


\fi        LOST  TIME  RECOVERED, 

the  end  of  that  time,  he  received  a  parcel,  fealed 
with  black  :  he  opened  it,  and  read  the  following 
letter  : 

My  dear  Son, 

YOU  have  no  longer  a  father.  Heaven  h?s 
deprived  us  of  our  protector  and  our  friend  ; 
there  now  remains  but  you  upon  earth,  who 
can  afford  comfort  to  my  forrow,  by  (hewing 
your  actions  and  your  fentiments  to  be  worthy 
of  my  affection  ;  but  if  you  were  to  deceive  my 
expectations,  if  I  muft  renounce  the  pleafing 
hopes  of  feeing  the  virtues  of  him,  whom  I  have 
loft,  revive  one  day  in  your  breaft,  I  mould  have 
nothing  left,  but  to  die  in  defpair,  I  fend  you 
your  father's  picture,  and  conjure  you  to  carry 
it  always  about  you.  Look  at  it  often,  and  en- 
deavour to  become  as  worthy  a  man  as  he  was. 
I  will  let  you  continue  at  fchool  the  remaining 
part  of  this  year,  that  you  may  have  fo  much 
more  time  to  accomplish  yourfeif,  both  in  mind 
and  perfon,  Canfider  that  you  hold  my  deftiny 
in  your  hands,  and  that  you  alone  can  now  afford 
a  moment's  happinefs  to  your 

Affectionate  Mother, 

Lccnzo's  giddinefs  had  not  fuppreffed  the 
feelings  of  nature  in  him  ;  and  this  letter  awaken- 
ed them  effectually,  He  bunt  into  tears,  wrung 
his  hands,  and,  in  a  voice,  broken  with  fobs,  he 
c^iesj  Ah  !  my  father,  my  father \  have  I  then 
!<*ft  yen  for  ever  !  Taking  the  portrait,  he  prefTes 
ft  to  hi: 6   heart  and  his  lips,  and  apoftrophizes  it 

with 


LOST  TIME  RECOVERED,       173 

with  thefe  words  :  O  dear  author  of  my  being, 
you  have  expended  fo  much  for  my  inflru&ion, 
and  1  have  not  profited  from  it  !  You  were  fo 
worthy  a  man,  and  I — No,  I  do  not  deferve  to 
be  called  your  fon. 

He  fpent  the  whole  day  in  thefe  bitter  reflec- 
tions. At  night  he  went  to  bed,  but  in  vain 
he  turned  himfelf  to  and  fro  :  fleep  vHIted  him 
not.  Hfe  imagination  reprefented  before  his 
eyes,  the  form  of  his  father,  who,  in  an  angry- 
and  terrible  voice,  thus  rebuked  him  :  unworthy 
boy,  I  have  facrifked  my  repofe  and  my  life,  to 
make  you  happy,  and  you  bring  dishonour  on  my 
name,  by  your  mifcondudt.  His  thoughts  would 
then  turn  on  his  mother,  and  on  the  .diftrefs- 
that  he  muit  occasion  to  her,  inftead  of  the  con- 
folation  which  fhe  expected  to  receive  from  his 
return.  What  will  be  her  $iftrefs,  laid  he,  when 
I  mall  appear  before  her,  and  have  none  but  the 
rooft  mortifying  teitimonies  of  my  inattention  to 
mew  her,  from  my  inftrudtors !  Jnftead  of  having 
caufe  to  be  proud  of  the  education  that  (he  has 
given  me,  1  mail  force  -her  to  blufh  :  fhe  will 
whh  to  love  me,  and  I  mall  deferve  but  her 
hatred.  O  my  dear  parent  !  I  (hall,  perhaps, 
be  the  caufe  of  her  death.  Oh,  that  I  had  pro- 
fited better  by  the  inftruclions  that  have  been 
lavifhed  upon  me  !  Oh  that  I  could  recover  the 
precious  time  that  I  have  loft  ! 

Thus  did  he  torment  himlelf  the  whole  night, 
and  bathe  his  bed  with  his  tears.  As  foon  as  it 
was  light,  he  rofe  in  hafte,  intending  to  begin 
an  immediate  and  perfevering  application  to  his 
ftudies  3  but  meeting  the  head  matter,  as  he  de- 
P  3  fcended 


>74       LOST  TIME  RECOVERED, 

feended  to  the  fchool,  he  fell  on  his  knees  before 
him,  and,  O  Sir,  faid  he,  you  fee  here  the  moil 
unfortunate  child  upon  earth.  I  have  not  at- 
tended to  your  words.  I  have  learned  nothing  of 
what  I  fhould  now  know  perfectly.  Have  com- 
panion on  me  ;  I  would  not  wifh  to  make  my 
mother  die  of  grief. 

The  matter  was  fenfibly  touched  with  this  ad- 
drefs  :  he  raifed  Lorenzo,  and  embraced  him, 
My  dear  child,  faid  he,  fmce  you  fee  your  fault, 
you  may  ttill  repair  it.  You  perceive  how  dread- 
fully mortifying  it  is  to  have  caufe  for  felf- 
reproach.  Before  you  had  a  clear  kn(e  of  your 
folly,  you  were  barely  blameable  ;  but  a  con^ 
ijnuance  of  it  would  be  criminal  in  you  now. 
Two  whole  years  you  have  entirely  loll  :  you 
.have  but  another  for  the  fmifhing  of  your  ftudics, 
Judge  how  you  muft  exert  yourfelf.  However, 
be  not  difcouraged  :  there  is  nothing  that  cannot 
be  accomplished  with  afliduity  and  nerfeverance* 
Begin,  this  very  moment  :  it  mall  not  be  the 
fault  of  my  zeal,  if  you  are  not  very  foon  as  weH 
fatisfied  with  yourfelf  as  you  now  have  reafon  to 
be  otherwife. 

Lorenzo  could  thank  him  no  otherwife,  than 
by  taking  his  hand,  and  preffing  it  to  His  lips.  He 
then  ran  immediately  to  his  form,  and  began  to 
iiudy  his  leiT.m,  and  continued  to  do  the  fame 
every  day  following.  His  matters,  attonifhed 
at  inch  perfevering  diligence,  fat  immediately 
about  cultivating  his  natural  parts,  with  more 
i  are  and  attention  than  they  had  ever  ufed  be-. 
fore.  His  companions,  who  had  conceived  a 
:.,(\p;rJo:i  of  him,    were  foon  obliged  to 

clva 


LOST  TIME  RECOVERED,         275 

change  it>  for  efteem.  Encouraged  by  all  thefe 
fortunate  circumftances,  Lorenzo  every  day  re* 
doubled  his  ardour  and  vigilance.  He  was  no 
longer  that  giddy  child  who  neglected  every  duty5 
to  indulge  himfelf  in  filly,  trifling  amufements. 
Order  and  cleanlinefs  fucceeded  to  his  former 
fbvenly  manner  ;  and  his  teachers  were  new 
obliged  to  force  him  away  from  his  ftudies,  in 
order  to  make  him  enjoy  fome  relaxation.  He 
would,  fometimes,  indeed,  find  himfelf  infenfibly 
relapiing  towards  his  old  habits,  but  he  needed 
only  to  caft  an  eye  upon  his  father's  picture,  to 
ftrengthen  him  afreih  in  his  laudable  resolution. 

The  year  which  his  mother  had  allowed  him 
for  the  rinifhing  of  his  ftudies,  was  drawing  near 
a  period  :  it  feemed  to  glide  away  very  rapidly, 
as  he  filled  up  every  moment  of  his  time,  and 
therefore  found  it  hardly  fufficient  for  the  fub- 
jects  of  his  application. 

At  length  the  hour  of  departure  arrived.  The 
change  wrought  in  his  character,  had  attached 
his  companions  to  him  fo  affectionately,  that  the 
thoughts  of  parting  with  him  gave  them  extreme 
concern.  His  -matters  -were  grieved  to  fee  a 
youth  depart,  who  now  began  to  do  credit  to 
their  instructions  ;  and  he  was  grieved  no  lefs  at 
leaving  his  matters,  whofe  prudent  advice  had  fo 
well  fupported  him  in  his  refolution  :  the  head 
matter,  in  particular,  who  began  to  felicitate  him- 
felf on  Lorenzo's  progrefs,  as  his  own  proper 
work,  was  inconfolable  ;  and  his  concern  ap- 
peared very  ttrongly  exprefTed,  in  a  letter  which 
he  wrote  $0  Lorenzo's  mother,  rendering  her  the 

in  oft 


ir6         LOST  TIME  RECOVERED. 

moft  advantageous  account  pofiible,  of  her  fon's. 
behaviour. 

During  the  whole  journey,  Lorenzo's  emo- 
tions of  hope,  joy,  and  expectation,  kept  him 
tremblingly  alhe.  His  heart  throbbed  with  the 
idea  of  re-vifiting  the  fcenes  of  his  infancy  ;  nor 
did  he  now  dread  fo  much  to  fhew  himfelf  be- 
fore his  mother,  becaufe  he  was  confcious,  that 
for  a  twelvemonth  paft,  he  had  neglected  nothing 
that  could  tend  to  his  improvement.  Yet  he 
could  not  help  faying  to  himfelf,  now  and  then, 
Tool  that  I  was  !  Could  I  not  have  done  the 
fame  thing  three  years  ago  ?  I  mould  be,  at  this 
day,  much  farther  advanced  in  learning.  How 
many  things,"  of  which  I  am  now  ignorant, 
might  I  not  have  learnetl  in  that  interval  J  Alas, 
1  might  have  fpared  myfelf  many  ibrrowful  and 
( mortifying  reflections. 

His  mother  had  come  a  part  of  the  way  to 
meet  him.  With  what  joy  did  (lie  behold  her 
dear  fon  once  more  !  The  head  mailer's  letters 
had  before  informed  her  of  his  happy  reforma- 
tion :  he  now  brought  one  from  him,  the  con- 
tents of  which  were  mil  more  flattering.  A 
mother  only  wiihes  for  new  reafons,  to  love  her 
fon  with  redoubled  tondnefs.  Thofe  reafons  (he 
found  in  the  idea  that  Lorenzo  had  reformed  his 
conduct,  only  out  of  affection  for  her  ;  and,  with 
a  mother's  eye,  Ihe  looked  prefagingly  forward 
to  the  happineis  of  his  future  life. 

Lorenzo  did  not  disappoint  thefe  hopes.     Af- 
ter dedicating  a  few  days  to  the  vifits  of  his  re- 
lations and  friends,  he  returned,  with  frefh  ardor, 
to  a  life  of  application.     The  habit  of  being  al- 
ways 


JASPER  AND  EMILIUS.  277 

ways  employed,  gave  ftrength  to  his  yndefftand- 
ing,  fo  that  he  foon  acquired  every  information 
necetfary,  to  qualify  him  for  putting  himfelf  at 
the  head  of  his  family  affairs.  The  manage- 
ment of  them  was  too  laborious  for  a  tender  wo- 
man, already  much  depreiTed  by  her  grief  ;  and 
her  fon's  activity,  diligence  and  fkill,  foon 
brought  them  into  a  flourifhing  (rate.  A  wealthy 
eftablifhment,  which  he  formed  foon  after,  and 
the  good  order  with  which  he  conducted  it,  pla- 
ced him  in  a  fituation,  fufficiently  at  eafe,  to  ena- 
ble him  to  undertake,  himfelf,  the  education  of 
his  numerous  children.  He  endeavored,  above 
all  things,  to  make  them  thoroughly  perceive  the 
ineftirnable  value  of  time  ;  and  to  caution  them, 
by  his  own  experience,  againft  ever  expofing 
themfelves  to  the  unpleafant  regret  of  having  illy 
employed  it, 


JASPER   AND   EMILIUS, 

MR.  MEAN  WELL,  who  had  been  long 
2bfent  from  his  native  country,  on  ac- 
count of  a  confiderable  employment  that  he  held 
in  the  End-Indies,  was  at  length  returned  to  his 
family,  in  order  to  enjoy,  in  their  peaceful  foci- 
ety,  the  ample  fruits  of  his  labors.  He  had  but 
one  fon,  about  fourteen  years  of  age,  in  whom 
1  is  fondefr  hopes' were  centered.  It  was  in  or^ 
der  to  iecure  to  this   fon  the  advantages  of  3 

inleadid 


178  JASPER  AND  EMILIUS. 

fplendid  fortune,  that  be  had  devoted  his  Hi 
bufinefs  of  the  moft  laborious  nature,  far  from 
his  country  and  his  friends.  His  views,  in  this 
refpe<5f,  had  been  gratified  beyond  the  extent  of 
his  withes.  He  returned,  loaded  with  wealth  ; 
but,  alas!  he  very  foon  perceived  how  much 
better  the  time  which  he  had  fpent  in  acquiring 
it,  would  have  been  employed, in  perfonal  atten- 
tion to  his  fon's  improvement,  and  how  much 
more  likely  fuch  an  attention  would  have  been,- 
to  eniure  liim  happinel's,  than  all  his  riches. 

Mrs.  JVltrinwell,  who  was  as  weak  in  under- 
ftandmg  as  iri  conftitution,  had  put  young  Jaf- 
per  under  the  care  of  a  family-tutor,  who,  in  or- 
der to  keep  his  employment,  had  only  ftudied  to 
gratify  the  child's  whims,  and  impofe  on  the 
blind  foLidntfs  of  a  mother,  who  idolized  her 
fan.  intoxicated  with  the  flattery  of  all  about 
him,  Jal'per  had  irifenfibly  grown  hardened  in  all 
the  ili-habits  that  he  had  been  fuflered  to  con- 
tradl  from  his  infancy.  His  tutor,  whofe  igno- 
rance, though  tolerably  profound,  fcarce  equalled 
his  meannefs,  frequently  gave  him  to  underftand, 
that  with  the  treafures  which  he  was  one  day  to 
poffefs,  he  had  no  occafion  to  impair  his  health 
by  a  clofe  application  to  f-udy  ;  and  that  For- 
tune, by  the  care  which  (he  had  taken  of  him, 
had  too  favorably  dillinguiihed  him  from  the  reft 
of  mankind,  to  fubjeft  him  to  the  fame  labours. 
Thefe  perfidious  iniinuations  accorded  fo  well 
with  the  natural  weaknefs  and  prefumption  of 
his  pupil,  that  they  effected  the  complete  corrup- 
tion of  his  heart  and  his  underftandinj  ;  Jafper 
Ytzs  therefore  become  a  confirmed  liar,  flothful, 

infenfible 


JASRER  AND  EMILIU3.  i79 

;  infenfible  to  the  affections  of  his  fellow-creatures, 
and  fo  difguft.ingly  conceited,  as  to  look  down 
upon  all  who  were  his  inferiors  in  fortune,  as  if 
they  were  no  better  than  beads  of  the  field.  Of 
all  the  ftories  with  which  the  tutor  amufed  his 
idlenefs,  he  liftened  only  to  thofe  that  afforded 
examples  of  pride  and  effrontery,     initan  :es  of 

.courage,  g;reatnefs  of  fpul,  and  humanity,  made 
no  impieiTion  upon  him  ;  nor  were  his  eyes  ever 
moiltened  with  thofc  delicious  tears  which  the 
recital,  of  a  virtuous  action  draws  from  the  eyes 
of  thofe  who  poffefs  true  generofity. 

This  odious  character  was  not  long  concealed 
from  Mr.  Meanwell's  obfervation.  What  a  fa- 
tal difcovery  tor  an  affectionate  father,  who,  re- 
turning from  the  farther!:  parts  of  the  earth,  with 
the  hopes  of  one  day  finding,  in  his  fon,  the 
comfort  and  glory  of  his  old  age,  fay/  him  al- 
ready poffeffed  of  every  quality  that  was  unpro- 
.mifing  and  difgraceful.  His  firft  care  was,  to  dif- 
mifs  the  contemptible  perfon,  who  had  been 
made  his  inftructor.  Notwithstanding  the  bodi- 
ly infirmities  which  already  began  to  attack  him, 
he  refolved  to  take  upon  himfelf  alone,  the  charge 
of  remedying  the  faulty  education  of  his  fon. 
He  imagined,  however,  that  he  fhould  fucceed 
better  in  this  undertaking,  if  he  placed  near  him 
a, child  of  a  good  difpofition,  and  nearly  his  own 
age,  whofe  behaviour  might  infpire  him  with  a 
noble  emulation.  The  choice  of  fuch  a  com- 
panion, he  thought,  mould  not  be  left  to  chance. 
For  feveral  weeks  he  fought  ineffectually  for  fuch 
an  one,  but  happening  one  day  to  be  riding  in 
the  country,  and  earneftly  meditating  upon  his 

project, 


iSu  JASPER  AND  EMILIUS. 

project,  he  perceived,  at  the  entrance  of  a  village, 
a  number  of  young  boys  at  play  :  one  of  them 
was  potleiled  of  fo  happy  a  phyfiognomy,  that, 
at  the  fir  ft  fight,  Mr.  Meanwell  was  captivated 
with  him.    He  approached  him,  afked  him  a  few 
queftions,  in  a  mild  tone  of  voice,  and  received 
anfrvers  i'o  replete  with  candor   and   fimplicity, 
that  they  effeit.ually  confirm  id  in  his  mind  the 
good  opinion  which   the   youth's   countenance 
hid  excited.     He  learned  from  him,  that  he  was 
the  eldeft  of  fix  children,  that  his  father  was  the 
apothecary  of   the   village,    and  barely  able  to 
maintain  him  and  the  reft  of  his  family  in  the 
inoft  limited  mediocrity.    Thefe  particulars  hav- 
ing given  Mr.  Meanwell  fome  hopes,  he  begged 
the  boy,  whofe  name  was  Emilius,   to  conduffc 
him  to  his  father.      He  found  him  to  be  a  fenfi- 
ble  man,  and  one  whofe  abilities,  in  a  more  en- 
larged fphere,  might  have  procured  him  the  high- 
eft  eftimation.     But,  moderate  in  his  defires,  he 
preferred  the  tranquility  of  a  retired  country  life, 
to  the  noify  buitle  of  the  capital  ;  and  contented 
himfelf  with  the  happinefs  of  doing  good  to  his 
poor  neighbours,  and  of  fulfilling  the  duty  of  a 
parent,  to  his  numerous  children.  His  wife,  who 
was  ftill  young,  had  adopted  his  views,  and  pru- 
dence feemed  to  divide,  with  happinefs,  the  go- 
vernment of  his  family.     Mr.   Meanwell,    after 
having,  for  fome  time,  difcourfed  with  them  con- 
cerning their  children,  in  order  the  better  to  un- 
der/land the  principles  which  they  had  followed 
in  their  education,  foon   perceived  them  to  be 
fuch  as  correfponded  with  his  own  ideas.    In  the 
fullncfs  of  his  joy,  he  took  the  apothecary  by  the 

hand, 


JASPER  AND  EMILIUS.  iSr 

hand,  and  imparted  to  him  the  defign  that  he 
hid  in  view,  with  refpetSt  to  his  (on,  alluring  .hi id, 
that  he  would  bring  him  up  as  his-  own,  and 
that  from  that  day  forward  he  would  take  upon 
him  the  care  of  his  fortune,  The  well-known 
Integrity  of  Mr.  Meanwell,  and  the  reputation  of 
his  wealth  and  intereft,  would  have  induced  pa- 
rents, who  were  lefs  affectionate,  or  more  ambi- 
tious, to  accept  his  offers,  without  hesitation  » 
but  the  parents  of  Emilius  found  a  difficulty  in 
parting  with  a  (ony  who  formed  their  principal 
happinefs  ;  and  the  boy  himfeif  was  no  lefs  a- 
Verfe  to  the  propofal,  thati  they  were.  However, 
the  more  objections  they  railed  to  the  fcheme, 
the  more  Mr.  Meanwell,  acluate^i  by  frefh  fe'nti- 
merits  of  efteem,  adhered  to  it.  rrt  fhert,  he 
redoubled  his  foiicitations  fo  powerfully,  that  he, 
at  lengthy  (hook  their  resolution.  The  frequent 
opportunities  which  would  offer  of  feeing  their 
ion,  and  the  hope  that  his  advancement  might* 
one  day,  contribute  to  that  of  his  brothers  and 
lifters,  induced  them,  at  length,  to  yield  their 
confent  ;  and  Mr.  Meanwell  took  his  leave,  filled 
with  the  mod  perfect  and  heartfelt  fatisfa£Hon. 

Three  days  were  demanded  by  the  parents  of 
Emilius,  to  prepare  him  for  appearing  in  town  ; 
at  the  end  or  that  time,  Mr.  Meanwell  appeared 
at  their  door.  I  will  not  attempt  to  delcribe  to 
you  the  grief  occa Honed  by  the  departure  of  a 
child,  fo  dearly  loved  by  his  family.  Emilius, 
who  had  had  the  courage  to  retrain  his  tears  in 
the  prefence  of  his  mother,  for  fear  of  incrcaiing 
her  forrow,  was  no  fooner  feaced  in  the  carriage, 
than  he  let  fall  a  Hood  of  tears.  Mr.  Meanwell 
Q.  did 


JASPER  AND  EMILIUS. 

did  not  feek,  at  firft,  to  interrupt  them,  otherwise 
than  by  filcnt  careffes  ;  but  when  the  firfl:  gu{p 
of  Torre w  was  over,  he  took  Emilius  by  trite 
hand,  and,  killing;  him,  My  bey,  faid  be,  be  no* 
sfHidted  ;  you  fee  in  me  a  fecond  father,  who  will 
cherim  you  with  as  much  affection  as  the  parent 
whom  nature  has  given  you.  Be  honcfr,  cour- 
teous, and  diligent,  and  nothing  ihall  ever  be 
wanting  to  your  happinefs. 

Emilius  was  fomething  eafed  by  thefe  rmrks 
of  tendernefs  and  affection.  Then  you  (hall  be 
my  other  father,  faid 'he,  prefiing  Mr.  Mean- 
well's  hand  between  his,  and  1  will  make  myfelf 
worthy  of  your  friendfhip  and  regard. 

Mr.  Meanwell  introduced  Emilius  into  his 
houfe,  upon  the  footing  of  a  fon,  and  ordered  all 
his  fervants  to  treat  him  with  the  fame  refpecl  ; 
and  his  mild  and  fenfible  manner,  foon  gained 
him  the  affcition  of  all  that  approached  him. 
Jafper  was  the  only  perfon  of  the  family,  who 
could  not  behold  him,  without  an  emotion  of 
envy.  He  foon  perceived  that  the  prefence  of 
this  rival  laid  him  under  the  neceffity  of  altering 
his  behaviour,  and  of  becoming  more  diligent  in 
his  ftudies.  Not  being  able  to  rind  in  his  heart 
any juft  foundation  for  hating  Em'dius,  he  thought 
that  he  might  at  leaft  reafonably  defpife  him,  as 
the  foon  of  a  poor  country  apothecary.  Dread- 
ing, however,  His  father's  difpleafure,  he  was  o- 
bliged  to  keep  thefe  thoughts  to  himfelf,  anji 
therefore  difguifed  them  under  the  mafk  of  friend- 
fhip.  Emilius,  who  could  not  fufpecT:  in  others 
a  falfhood  to  which  his  own  heart  was  a  Gran- 
ger, grew  tenderly  attached  to  him  ;  he  endea- 
voured 


JASPER  AND  EMILIUS.  i$| 

-/birred  to  arTift  him  in  all  his  exertions,  and  td 
facilitate  the  labours  of  his  ftudy  ;  at  the  fame 
time,  he  put  up  with  his  pride  and  capricioufnefs, 
as  one  ufually  winks  at  the  defects  of  a  beloved 
friend. 

He  had  already  been  accuftomed,  under  the 
immediate  direction  of  his  father,  to  exert  his 
powers  of  appreheniion,  fo  that  he  met  with  no- 
thing, in  the  courfe  of  his  ftudy,  that  was  capa- 
ble of  damping  his  ardour.  Endowed  with  a 
lively  penetration,  and  a  powerful  memory,  and, 
efpecially,  animated  with  the  defire  of  meriting 
the  applaufe  and  encouragement  of  Mr.  Mean- 
well,  he  made  fo  rapid  a  progrefs,  that  his  maiters 
could  fcarcely  believe  it  poifible.  He  improved 
hlmfelf  no  lets  fuccefsfully  in  the  exercifes  of  the 
body  ;  thus  his  manners  became  graceful,  at  the 
fame  time  that  his  underftanding  was  enlighten- 
ed, and  his  heart  expanded  with  fentiments  of 
honor  and  generoiity.  Mr.  Meanwell  beheld 
him  every  day,  with  renewed  affection  ;  and  even 
Grangers  were  feldom  twice  in  his  company,with- 
out  feeling  a  fecret  prepoffeffion  in  his  favour. 
Polite,without  affectation,  attentive,  without  fer- 
vility,  chearful,  without  thoughtlefsnefs,  he  enli- 
vened, by  his  prefence,  the  joy  and  happinefs  of 
the  whole  family.  In  the  midft  of  thefe  flat- 
tering circumftanees,  Emilius,  far  from  fuffering 
the  illufions  of  vanity  to  fieal  upon  him,  became 
only  the  more  modeit.  Although  he  could  not 
be  infenfible  to  his  own  fuperiority  over  Jafpers 
he  would  have  been  contented  to  call  it  in  quef- 
irion,  and  mil  better  pleafed  to  have  hid  it  from 
the  obfervation  of  others,  for  fear  of  mortifying 
0,2  his 


184  JASPER  AND  EMILR 

his  friend.  He  was  the  firft  to  defend  him;  or 
to  make  him  appear  to  advantage.  Ah  !  iaid  he 
to  himfeif,  if  my  friend  had  not  been  fo  benefi- 
cent to  me,  and  fo  powerfully  affifted  me  in  eve- 
ry laudable  acquirement,  'fpite  of  the -affection- 
ate cares  of  my  father,  1  mould  ftill  .be  far  from 
knowing  even  what  little  I  know.  Other  chil- 
dren, in  m>  fituation,  would,  perhaps,  have  pro- 
fited better  from  the  opportunities  indulged  me 
by  Providence.  Jafper  himfeif  would,  perhaps, 
have  fur  pa  (Ted  me,  had  he  been  in  my  fituation, 
and  I  in  his.  He  can  do  without  learning,  better 
than  I  can  ;  the  abfolute  necettity  of  acquiring 
it,  has  done  every  thine:  for  me. 

Eight  years  pa  (Ted  on  thus,  during  which,  E- 
milius  made  himfeif  matter  of  every  accomplilh- 
ment  that  is  conferred  bv  the  mod  liberal  educa- 
tion. Time  and  place  would  fail  me,  were  I  de- 
firous  to  particularize  to  you  the  various  mental 
acquirements  with  which  he  had  ftored  his  un- 
derstanding. As  to  Jafper,  it  would  be  a  rtill 
longer  tafk,  to  enumerate  all  thofe  which  he  had 
nor.  His  natural  felf-fufficiency  had  perfuaded 
him,  that  with  a  few  terms  cf  fcience,  which 
*vas  all  that  remained  to  him  from  his  ftudies,  he 
was  a  match  for  fome  of  the  ableft  mailers.  His 
difpofition,  in  the  mean  time,  was,  at  bottom, 
very  little  altered  ;  the  fear  of  his  father  had, 
indeed,  a  little  retrained  his  vicious  impetuofi- 
ties,  but,  in  return,  it  had  bellowed  on  him  hy- 
'ify,  as  a  convenient  mafk  to  conceal  them. 
Mr.  Meahwell,  whofe  penetrating  eyeobferved 
them,  even  through  this  veil,  would  have  fallen 
2  victim  to  the  chagrin  which  he  felt  on  this  mor- 
tifying 


JASPER  AND  EMILIUS.  185 

tifying  difcovery,  if  the  good  behaviour  of  Emi- 
lias had  not  afforded  him  a  pleafing  confolation. 
Neverthelefs,  when  Jafper  had  reached  his  twen- 
tieth year,  the  apprehenfions  that  he  formed  to 
himfelf  of  his  fon's  future  impropriety  of  con- 
duct, overbalanced  every  other  consideration. 
While  his  heart  was  torn  with  thefe  cruel  refleo 
tions,  he  was  feized  with  a  violent  diforder, 
which  carried  him  off  in  a  few  days,  in  lpite  of 
the  affectionate  cares  and  ardent  wiihes  that  E- 
milius  teftified  for  his  recovery,  even  to  the  fatal 
moment  which  feparated  them  for  ever. 

Jafper,  freed  as  he  now  was  from  the  curb 
which  formerly  reftrained  his  palfions,  had  fcarce- 
ly  paid  the  laft  offices  to  his  father,  befoie  he  be- 
gan  to  ihew  forth  his  natural  difpofition.  Un- 
grateful to  the  memory  of  an  excellent  father, 
in  the  perfon  whom  he  had  adopted  as  a  fecond 
fan,  and  forgetting  the  obligations  that  he  him- 
felf bore  to  the  fame  youth,  hefurioufly  ihut  his 
doors  upon  him,  and  flew  down  to  his  paternal 
feat  in  the  country,  there  to  make  himfelf  amends 
for  his  former  conftraint,  by  indulging  a  life  of 
favage  tumult  and  unbridled  licentioufnefs. 

How  different  were  the  emotions  which  im- 
pelled the  heart  of  Emilius,  who  was  now  re- 
turned to"  the  mediocrity  of  his  father's  houfe  ! 
he  grieved,  indeed,  but  not  on  account  of  his 
change  of  condition  Mr.  Meanwell  had  made 
him  a;  handfome  provifion  for  life  ;  but  his  in- 
t^reft  gave'  him  very  little  concern  ;  it  was  the 
Jofs  of  his'genero  us' benefactor  that  he  felt  moft 
fenfibly  :  the  recent  lofs  of  that  friend  who  had 
taken  care  of  his  youth,  whom  he  was  accuftom- 

0.3  «» 


i86  JASFER  AND  EMJJ.IUS. 

fd  to  look  upon  as  a  father,  and  in  whom  lie  had 
found  all  the  affections  of  one.  The  forrow  oc- 
cafioned  by  this  lofs,  brought  on  a  ficknefs,  which 
had  nearly  fent  him  after  the  friend  whom  he 
mourned.  In  the  mod  violent  fits  ot  his  deliri- 
um, he  pronounced  only  the  name  of  Mr.  Mean- 
well.  He  even  called  his  father  by  this  name, 
whenever  he  fat  by  his  bed,  as  the  diforder  de- 
prived him  of  all  knowledge  of  his  relations. 
They  were  leng  apprehenf.ve  for  his  life  :  in  ef- 
fect, he  owed  his  recovery  to  the  vows  and  inde- 
iblc  cares  of  a  family,who  all  feemed  only  to 
ex  ill  in  hino. 

After  devoting  s  few  months  to  the  fatisfa£H- 
on  which  his  friends  enjoyed  in  feeing  his  health 
re-eftablifhed,  and  in  admiring  his  virtues  and 
accomplifhm<  nlius  returned  to  the  capi- 

tal, intending  to  enter  upon  one  of  the  learned 
profeffions,  and,  in  the  mean  time,  rfifuming  his 
ftudres  with  more  eagernefs  and  advantage  than 
ever.     He  had  gained  the  friend  (hip  and  efteem 
of  many  perfons  of  quality,  during  Ins  refidence 
at  the  houfe  of  Mr.  Meanwell,   who  now  united 
ii  intcre(t  to  procure  him  an  advantageous 
efhb.'iihment.     The  duke  of- — ' — — < — ,  having 
juft  finished  his  fUidies,  was  about  to  make  the 
tour  of  Europe,   and  Emilius  was  recommended 
to  his  family,  as  a  proper  perfon  to  accompany 
jrum.     i  hough  he  appeared  very  \oung,  for  fuch 
iHce,  he,  neverthelefs,  imprencd  them  fo  fa- 
ably,  with  refpeel  to  his  character  and  con- 
duel,  that   he  was  judged  to  be  as-  trufty  and  in- 
telligent a  governor  as  they  could  fend  with  the 
tbleman.     In  thecourfe  of  this  tour,  he 

found 


JASPER  AND  EMILIUS.  187 

found  numberlefs  opportunities  of  enlarging  and 
applying  the  knowledge  that  he  had  acquired 
from  ftudy.  His  iprightly  wit  and  engaging 
manners,  made  him  a  favorite  at  every  court 
which  his  pupil  vifited.  There  were  even  fome 
foreign  princes,  who  diftinguifhed  him  in  a  very 
flattering  manner,  and  wifhed  to  attach  him  to 
their  fervice  ;  but  his  engagements  to  the  young 
duke's  family,  made  him  decline  every  offer,how- 
ever  fplendid.  He  was  not  long,  without  receiv- 
ing the  reward  of  his  fidelity.  He  had  fcarce 
conducted  his  pupil  home  to  his  native  country, 
when  a  nobleman  of  the  fame  family,  being  ap- 
pointed ambaffador  to  one  of  the  foreign  courts, 
cfcofe  him  for  his  fecretary.  During  a  long  ill- 
nefs  of  the  ambaiTador,  Emilius  managed  the 
principal  hufmefs  of  the  embaffy,  which  he  per- 
formed with  fo  much  ability,  that,  upon  the  mi- 
nifler's  recommendation,  he  was  entrufted  with  a 
very  delicate  negociation,  in  which  he  had  the 
honor,  as  well  as  fatisfaction,  of  rendering  his 
country  a  fervice  of  the  moil  important  nature, 

Jafper,  in  the  mean  time,  had  met  with  very 
different  fortune  :  we  left  him  in  the  country, 
upon  his  eftate,  harafTing  his  game  and  his  te- 
nants. This  way  of  life  gave  the  finishing  ftroke 
to  his  manners  3  that  is  to  fay,  it  rendered  them 
thofe  of  a  brute,  and  his  underflanding  feemed 
degraded  to  the  groffeft  degree  of  rufticity,  A 
quarrel  with  a  neighboring  country  gentleman, 
in  which  his  paltry  behaviour  covered  him  with 
fhame  and  mortification,  forced  him  to  quit  his 
country  refidence,  and  to  come  up  again  to  Lon- 
don ;  but  even  thither  his  infamy  purfued  him  ; 

and 


1 88  JASPER  AND  EMILIU3. 

and  being  aggravated  with  the  additional  im- 
peachment of  fraud,  became  a  iubje£t  of  the  moft 
public  notoriety. 

Jafper  now  found  himfelf  excluded  from  all 
genteel  company,  where  his  father's  name  had 
formerly  procured  him  a  welcome.  Unable  to 
find  a  refource,  either  in  ftudy  or  reflection,  he 
fuffered  himfelf  to  be  carried  away  by  the  torrent 
of  vicious  example  ;  and  gaming  foon  fuggefted 
to  him  the  delign  of  feiling  his  eitate,  and  after- 
wards furnifhed  him  with  opportunities  of  difli- 
pating  his  money,  whale  intemperance  and  de- 
bauch,  at  the  fame  time,  made  rapid  havock  with 
his  constitution.  In  order  to  elude  his  creditors, 
whofe  importunities  now  became  preffing,  he 
determined  to  tranfport  himfelf  to  the  continent, 
and,  by  a  lingular  accident,  a/rived  in  the  very 
fame  town  where  Emilius  refided,  and  where,  for 
his  many  amiable  and  refpeclable  qualities,  he 
enjoyed  the  univerfal  efteem  of  a!!  parties. 

The  unhappy  Jafper  carried  with  him  ftill  his 
extravagant  pailion  for  play  :  fortune  feemed  at 
firft  to  favour  him  in  this  new  fccne  ;  and  his  ex- 
penfive  manner  of  living  procured  him  credit. 
But  it  was  not  long*  before  his  affairs  fell  into 
confulion  ;  and  his  creditors,  finding  that  he  had 
treated  them  with  the  groiTeh  nnpofitions,  fent 
him  to  priibn,  upon  his  not  being  able  to  fatisfy 
their  demands.  i  he  rumour  or  fuch  a  difgracs' 
happening  to  one  of  his  countrymen,  foon  occa- 
iioned  Emilius  to  come  to  the  knowledge  of  kid 
name.  u  Heavens  !"  cried  he,  "  is  the  fon  of 
my  deareft  benefactor  in  a  priibn  ?"  for  he  im- 
mediately forgot  Jaipur's  ungenerous  behaviour 

toward 


JASPER  AND  EMILIU3.  189 

toward  him.  He  flew,  therefore,  to  the  dunge- 
on where  he  was  confined.  But,  alas  !  in  what 
a  dreadful  condition  did  he  find  him  J  Pale,  dif- 
figured,  pining  in  diftreis,  wafted  by  pain,  har- 
rowed by  remerfe,  and  a  prey  to  all  the  convul- 
flons  of  rage  and  defpair.  He  ftrikes-  off  his 
chains,  fnatches  him  from  this  manfion  of  hor- 
ror, carries  him  to  his  own  houfe,  and  there  treats 
him  with  the  moft  affectionate  care  and  attenti- 
on. He  would  have  facrificed  all  his  Jbrtune  to 
reftore  him  to  life,  and  to  be  the  author  of  his 
happinefs.  But  heaven  had  already  dealt  the  a- 
venging  blow.  Jafper  furvived  this  event  but  a 
few  days.  Emilius  was  grieved  at  his  death,  as 
much  as  if  he  had  loft  the  moft  affectionate  friend. 
He  was  inconfolable,  that  fate  had  put  it  out  of 
his  power  to  render  to  the  fon  of  his  benefactor 
the  kindnefles  which  he  had  received  from  the 
father.  This  reflection  deprefTed  his  fpirits  a 
confiderable  time.  Images  of  gloomy  fadnefs 
were  ever  before  his  eyes,  and  haunted  him,  even 
in  his  moft  collected  hours  of  bufinefs  ;  but  the 
alacrity  with  which  he  attended  to  his  duty,  and 
the  command  which  he  was  accuftomed  to  exer- 
cife  over .himfelf,  reftored  him  at  length  to  his  u- 
fual  ferenity  of  mind  ;  and  he  continued  toper- 
form  the  offices  of  his  employ,  with  a  zeal  and 
integrity,  that  loon  advanced  him  to  the  exalted 
Ration  in  which  we  fee  him  at  this  daw  - 


THE 


(     i"9*    ) 


MtHBMMMBH 


THE  PUNISHMENT  OF  PRIDE, 

•UPLilvT.  the  ion' of  an  honeft  laborer,  had 
early  unified  a  ilrong  inclination  for  the 
proreffion  oi  arms.  He  was  continually  exerci- 
ling  wkh-his  fpad*e,  and  had  {'craped  acquaintance 
with  every  game- keeper  in  the  neighborhood,  i$ 
oidcr  that  he  might  have  an  opportunity  of  hand- 
ling their  fowling-pieces.  At  the  age  of  eigh- 
teen, ho  -enliited  as  a  ibldier;  end  being  (through 
the  good  care  which  his  father  had  taken  of  his 
education)  a  tolerable  proficient  in  writing  and 
figures,  he  was  very  loon  made  corporal,  and,  af- 
ter that,  ierjeant. '■ 

At  the  commencement  of  the  war,  his  regi- 
ment going  abroad,  he  behaved  himfelf  lb  re- 
markably well,  the  iirft  campaign,  as  to  obtain  a 
pair  of  colours*  •  He  had  been  lent  upon  feveral 
hazardous  expeditions,  in  which  he  mewed  him- 
feff  to  hz  equally  intelligent  and  brave  ;  and  it 
was  rerriar&edV  t0  *us  praife,  that  a  foidier  had 
netfer  turned  his  back,  while  under  his  command. 

The  general,  who  had  been  a  witnefs  to  his 
bravery,  in  many  engagements,  now  promoted 
him  to  the  command  of  a  company,  in  order  t« 
t  the  emulation  of  his  troops,  by  the  exam- 
of  Rupert's  good  fortune.  And,  forne  cam- 
paigns after,  a  very  fplcndid  aclion,  that  he  per- 
fbrtned  in  a  battle  in  which  nicil  of  the  elder  cap- 
tains 


THE  PUNISHMENT  OF  PRIDE.     191 

ggains  were  killed,  was  the  occafiq.n  of  his  being 
elevated  to  the  port  of  major. 

Honorable  mention  had  frequently  been  made 
of  his  name  in  the  public  papers  ;  and  his  bro- 
thers were  often  gratified  by  their  neighbors,  with 
the  recital  of  adiions  considerably  to  his  praife. 
It  may  eafily  be  imagined  how  proud  they  were 
of  bein£  fa  nearly  related  to  him.  Whenever 
they  fpo&e  of  him,  they  fhed  tears  of  joy.  Their 
affection  to  him  jeenied  to  entitle  them  to  a  fhare 
in  his  reputation  ;  and  they  wiihed  for  the  hap- 
py moment  of  his  fafe  return,  that  they  might 
embrace  a  brother  who  did  lb  much  honor  to  his 
jcirulred. 

With  all  thefe  good  qualities,  however,  Ru- 
pert poiTeiT-d  one  which  was  very  odious  ;  his 
words  and  aaions  were  marked  with  the  mod. 
...infupportab'e  arrogance.  There  was  no  man  in 
the  world  (to  take  his  word  for  it)  fo  fcnfible,  or 
fo  intrepid  as  himfelf.  He  fpoke  of  his  own  va- 
liant deeds,  as  a  flattering  courtier  would  of  thofe 
of  a  fovereign  prince,  before  his  face.  He  arro- 
gated to  htmfelf  more  glory  from  them,  than  was 
juftly  due  to  him  ;  and  feemed  infenfible  to  the 
merit  of  the  other  officers,  whenever  they  ac- 
quitted themfelves  with  as  much  gallantry  as  him- 
felf. 

At  theconclufion  of  the  war,  his  regiment  re- 
turning home,  was  fent  into  country  quarters, 
and  (as  it  happened)  by  a  route  that  led  very  near 
his  own  native  village.  As  foon  as  ever  his  bro- 
thers were  apprized  of  this  circumftance,  they 
went  off  to  meet  him  on  the  road,  accompanied 
by  a  few  friends,  and  arrived  in  a  neighboring 

town 


i92    THE  PUNISHMENT  OF  PRII'l 

town,  juft  as  the  divifion  which  he  commanded 
of  the  regiment  had  entered,  and  was  forming 
in  the  market-place. 

My  dear  Rupert,  faid  the  elder  brother,  how 
happy  I  am  to  fee  thee,  and  how  happy  would 
our  aged  father  be,  were  he  alive  this  day  !  Hea- 
ven be  praifed  that  we  behold  you  fate  returned 
from  the  dangers  of  war.  For  my  part,  I  never 
felt  myfelf  fo  happy  In  my  life  as  at  this  moment. 
Saying  thefe  words,  he  held  out  his  hand,  invi- 
ting Rupert  to  a  fimilar  demonftration  of  frater- 
nal amity.  But  the  major,  fwelling  with  fhame 
and  indignation,  to  fee  a  man,  in  a  frize  coat,  call 
him  brother,  rejefted  his  proffered  falutation. 
You  had  better  go  home,  faid  he,  my  friend.  I 
have  not  time  to  talk  to  you  at  prefent.  How  ! 
cried  the  younger  brother,  do  not  you  know  me 
neither  ?  Look  well  at  me  :  I  am  your  brother 
George.  You  ufed  to  be  very  fond  of  me*  It 
was  from  you  that  I  learned  to  plow,  when  I  was 
a  boy. 

The  major  now  foamed  with  rage  anddefpite, 
and  having  no  other  means  to  be  rid  of  his  un- 
welcome relations,  he  caufed  his  foldiers  to  make 
a  fudden  movement  or  evolution,  which  obliged 
the  furrojoding  populace,  and,  among  the  reft, 
his  brothers,  to  fall  back,  and  retire  from  the 
fpot  of  ground  where  he  flood. 

The  two  peafauts,  who  had  promifed  them- 
3  fo  much  joy  and  happinefs  in  meeting  with 
a  brother  that  had  been  abfent  frorrvthem  fo  ma- 
ny years,  returned  home,  full  of  grief  and  refent- 
They  were  fcarce  able  to  credit  their 
fenfes,  that  fuch  had  been  their  indifferent  recep- 
tion 


rEE  PUNISHMENT  OF  PRIDE.     193 

J  ion  with  one  whom,  notwithftanding  his  unna- 
tural pride,  they  found  themlelves  ready  ftill  to 
love  as  a  brother. 

The  ioldiers  who  were  prefent  at  this  difguft- 
ing  fcene,  did  not,  it  is  true,  exprefs  their  fenti- 
ments  of  it  aloud,  but  they  faid  to  each  other,  in 
whifpers,  A  111211  muit  have  a  very  bad  heart  in- 
deed, to  be  afhamed  of  his  relations  Does  our 
major  think  it  a  difgrace  to  be  the  fame  as  we 
are  ?  He  ought,  much  rather,  to  be  proud  of 
having  made  his  way,  in  the  army,  by  merit,  than 
to  put  on  the  airs  of  a  man  of  family. 

Rupert  had  not  a  foul  formed  for  thinking  Co 
nobly  :  inilead  of  remembering  that  he  had  once 
been  a  private  foldier,  bethought,  by  his  a  {Turned 
Joftinefs,  to  make  his  former  comrades  forget  it. 
He  treated  them,  therefore,  with  the  laft  degree 
of  contempt  ;  but  he  appeared,  in  their  eyes, 
much  move  worthy  of  this  parTion.  His  prefer- 
ment, which  before  had  given  them  fo  much  fa- 
tisfaclion,  now  only  ferved  to  mortify  them. 
They  obeyed  his  orders,  but  with  reluctance  ; 
and  every  foldier  in  the  regiment,  wifhed  him 
fairly  out  of  it. 

One  day,  when  the  corps  to  which  lie  belong- 
ed, was  parting  in  review  before  a  general,  this 
officer  made  fome  remarks  on  the  manoeuvres 
performed  by  the  major,  with  his  divifion,  to 
which  the  latter  replied  in  terms  of  the  mofl 
pointed  difrefpeet.  His  fupercilious  deportment 
had,  already,  more  than  once,  offended  his  gene- 
rals. 1  nis  frefh  breach  of  military  fubordina- 
tion,  underwent  the  fevered  animadverfion  ;  for, 
as  it  was  too  public  and  grofs  to  bepaffed  over  in 
X  .filence. 


194    THE  PUNISHMFNT  OF  PRIDE. 

filence,  it  became  the  fubjecl  of  a  general-court- 
martis),  the  decifion  of  vbich  ccmpleated  his 
ruin  ;  for,  even  here,  he  exprefled  himfelf  in  lan- 
guage fo  unguardedly  perfonal  againft  his  profe- 
cu tor, and  perfifted  with  fuch  inflexible  haughti- 
nefs,  in  refuiing  'o  make  a  fubmiflion,  that  he 
was  fentenct-d  to  be  cafhiered,  to  the  univerfai 
joy  of  his  regiment. 

Reduced,  by  this  ftroke,  to  his  original  pover- 
ty, he  was  obliged  to  embrace  the  alternative,  ei- 
ther of  ftruggling  with  indigence  and  necefiity, 
or  of  employing  means  for  his fubfiftence,  which., 
before,  he  would  have  fpurned,  as  unworthy  of 
Fus  rank  and  confequence.  He  had  a  fmall  farm 
(if  a  piece  of  ground  might  be  fo  called,  that 
was  fcarcely  large  enough  for  a  cabbage-garden) 
fituated  clofe  by  his  native  village.  As  (by  his 
father's  will ;  he  had  not  the  power  of  felling  it, 
in  the  life  time  of  his  brothers,  he  had  let  it  to 
one  of  them  upon  his  entering  the  army,  but  al- 
ways thought  the  rent  of  it,  though  accumulat- 
ing, an  object  of  fo  fmall  importance,  particular- 
ly after  he  was  made  an  officer,  that  he  rnuhfince 
that  time,  in  his  own  mind,  almoft  wholly  re- 
nounced the  property  of  it,  as  he  had  the  memo- 
ry of  his  origin,  and  the  relationfhip  of  the  per- 
fon  who  was  his  tenant.  He  now  found  him- 
felf,  however,  under  the  neceffity  of  deriving, 
from  this  patch  of  ground,  the  means  of  his  im- 
mediate fubiiftence,  by  making  application  to  ln's 
brother  for  the  rent  arifing  from  it.  For  this 
purpofe,  a  journey  to  the  place  of  his  nativity 
was,  if  not  indifpenlable,  at  leaft  highly  expedi- 
ent j  and  then  it  was  when  the  peafants  and  vil- 
lagers, 


THE  PUNISHMENT  OF  PRIDE.     195 

lagers,  his  former  acquaintances,  faw  him  come 
down  among  them,  ftripped  of  his  plumes,  and 
reduced  to  the  fame  ftate  of  harmlefs  obfeurity 
with  themfelves,  thai  they  repaid  him  his  former 
infolence,  with  ufury.  However,  as  he  courted 
the  friendfhip  of  none,  in  return  none  offered 
him  their  fociety.  Thus  he  faw  himfelf  depri- 
ved of  one  of  the  greateft  bleflings  that  human 
life  can  afford,  particularly  to  thofe  who  are  un- 
der the  prelfure  of  adverfity, 

if  the  other  inhabitants  of  the  village  were  of- 
fended at  Rupert's  unnatural  pride,  his  brothers 
had,  certainly,  the  firft  caufe  to  refent  it,  having 
been  the  more  immediate  objects  of  his  infult. 
Perhaps,  therefore,  you  fear,  left  they  mould,  in 
their  turn,  have  flighted  him.  "  We  know 
you  not,"  vould  have  been  a  juft  anfwer  to  all 
his  applications  and  advances  toward  reconcili- 
ation :  but,  fortunately  for  him,  the  brothers 
poifefTed  rhat  real  greatnefs  of  fpirit  which  he 
wanted.  They  fought  no  other  fatisfaction,  than 
that  of  conferring  kindneffes  on  him.  For  this 
purpofe,  the  renter  of  his  little  farm,  not  only  re- 
ftored  it  to  him  in  good  condition,  together  with 
the  revenues  thence  accruing,  but  concerted  with 
the  other  brother,  the  means  of  fettling  hint 
comfortably,  on  a  moderate  farm,  if  he  chofe  to 
embrace  that  way  of  life.  This,  as  thev  were 
thriving;,  refponfible  perfons,  they  found  no  p;reat 
difficulty  to  effe.:t  ;  and  Rupert  returned  once 
more  to  the  happy  occupation,  from  which  am- 
bitious and  chimerical  dreams  of  glory,  had  for- 
merly feduced  him.  But  he  was,  by  no  means, 
happy  in  his  condition.  Every  day,  as  he  went 
R2  about 


196      THE  INCREASE 

about  thofe  labours,  which  he  had  (o  long  dis- 
dained, the  thoughts  of  his  former  elevated  hopes 
and  expectations,  continually  haunted  him.  How- 
did  he  fufYer,  under  the  mortifying  thought,  that 
lie  owed  almcft  his  prelent  exigence,  to  thofe, 
whom  he,  en  ihe  'contrary,  might*  comparatively 
fpeaking,  have  made  rich  men.  Aecurfed  pride  ! 
he  Would  lav,  to  what  a  p i liable  degree  haft  thou 
humbled  mc  ! 

This  cutting  rejection  -filled  his  hours  witlv 
b'tternefs  ;  and  he  died,  in  a  (hort  time,  devour- 
ed with  chagrin,  leaving  a  melancholy  example 
to  thofe  whom  the  fame  intoxicating  pai'lion 
might  tempt  to  tlef^ifq  the  found  admonitions  of 
reafon  and  modeity, 


•/  r*  %y4Tj&;jc^-n 


THE  INCREASE  OF  FAMILY, 

HONEST  farmer  Townfend  was  on  a  vi- 
fit  to  his  fitter,  who  had  been  a  few  years 
married^  and  lived  at  the  diftance  of  nine  or  ten 
miles  from  his  habitation.  One  evening,  a  little 
before  fupper,  as  he  fat  with  her  and  her  hufband 
befide  their  cottage  door,  and  difcourfed  with 
them  concerning  family  affairs,  there  palled  by  a 
little  girl  about  rive  years  of  age,  and  totally  in 
rags.  Townfend  remarked  the  miferable  ap- 
pearance of  her  whole  perfon,  aud  laid  to  his 
filter,  "  There  is  a  poor  Utile  girl,  very  much  to 

be 


THE  INCREASE  OF  FAMILY.      197 

be  pitied.  Not  one  rag  about  her  feems  to  af- 
ford her  a  covering.  It  is  a  difgrace  to  your  pa- 
rifh.  Her  rather  muft  have  very  little  induftry, 
and  her  motner  very  little  feeling." 

Alas  !  anfwered  his  fifter,  (he  has  no  father 
nor  mother,  and  there  are  two  other  children, 
betide  her,  of  [he  lame  family,  who  are  equally 
wretched.  1  hrough  fome  dilpute  between  two 
different  parishes,  (each  aliening  this  deftitute 
family  to  belong  to  the  other)  the  poor  children 
wanuer  up  and  down  the  counrry,  without 
houle  or  home.  They  lie,  at  night,  in  barns, 
or  under  hedges.  When  hunger  becomes  trou- 
blefome,  they  go  and  fit  down  before  the  doors 
of  cottages.  If  any  body  gives  them  a  morfel 
ot  bread,  they  receive  it  with  joy  5  but  they  ne- 
ver afk  any  thing.  Their  father^  who  was  a 
man  of  fpirit,  though  reduced  by  ficknefs,  to  the 
moft  deplorable  ftate  of  poverty,  forbad  them, 
with  his  dying  lips,  to  beg. 

This  recital  affected  the  honeft  farmer  very 
much.  It  is  Ihockingj  faid  he,  that  any  poor 
creatures  mould  be  fo  neglected  by  the  reft  of 
their  fpecies  :  I  will'  take  them,  added  he,  under 
my  care,  fince  nobody  here  withes  to  be  chared 
with  them.  Hn>  fifter,  and  her  hufband,  thought 
it  their  duty  to  diiTuade  him,  asftrondy  as  poili- 
ble,  from  this  undertaking.  They  told  him, 
that  he  had  children  of  his'own,  that  lie  knew 
nothing  about  thefe,  that  they  were,  for  three 
months  pail,  accuftomed  to  a 'lazy  vagabond  life, 
and  that  it  was  a  matter  of  doubt,  whether  they 
would  ever  turn  to  good.  Then,  brother,  con- 
fider,  added  they,  what  an  addition  of  trouble 
R  3  they 


i93      THE  INCREASE  OF  FAMILY. 

they  will  caufe  to  your  wife,  and  what  a  burden 
they  will  be  in  your  family. 

Townltnd  was  not  one  of  thofe  weak  men, 
who  fuffer  themfelves  to  be  diverted  from  the 
performance  of  a  laudable  defign,  by  a  few  diffi- 
culties accompanying  it.  He  was  not  very  feli- 
citous to  heur  ail  their  objections,  and  ftilj  lefs 
to  anfwer  them. 

He  rofe,  therefore,  from  his  feat,  in  order  to 
retire  to  reft  :  but  his  fcheme  of  benevolence,  in 
favour  of  the  orphans,  kept  him  long  awake,  by 
exciting,  in  his  mind,  reflections  of  a  tenderer 
caft  than  ufual  ;  and  the  moiiture  of  generous 
.compafFion  was  ftill  upon  his  eyelids,  when  they 
doled  in  fleep  for  the  night. 

The  next  morning  early,  he  fent  lor  theeldeft 
girl,  who  was  about  twelve  years  of  age.  I  was 
given,  faid  he,  to  underfrand,  yefterday,  that  your" 
father  and  mother  are  dead,  and  1  Jee,  by  your 
drds,  that  they  have  not  left  you  any  great  mat- 
ters of  fortune. 

The  little  girl*  No,  indeed,  we  are  poor  e* 
»ough. 

Townfend*  Have  you  no  relations,  who  would 
i'ke  you  home  ? 

The  Hide  girik  Yes,  we  have  fome,  but  they 
are  too  poor,  as  well  as  ourfelves. 

TcwjcrJ.  Well,  would  you  go  with  me,  and 
be  my  child  ? 

The  little  girl.     Ah  !  if  you  would  take  me. 

Town/end,     Come,  then,  that  is  fettled  :  but  I 

orn   going  home  on   horftback,  and  could  not 

take  ^ou  all  three  together.     It  was  the  younge.Il 

r  that  I  faw  firft  :  I  will  begin  with  her, 

Brmj 


THE  INCREASE  OF  FAMILY.      iqy 

£  ring  the  child  to  me.      Let  us   be -acquainted - 
together. 

The  youngefr  girl  foon  came.  She  had  a 
countenance  fo  mild,  and  gained  fo  much  vtpon 
the -fanner,  by  her  little  fond  careffes,  that  he 
looked  upon  him  kit  already  as  her  father.  He 
took  her  up,  therefore,  before  him,  on  his  horfe  ; 
and  when  they  arrived  at  the  farm-houfe,  his 
wife  aiked  ham  whofe  child  that  was.  it  is  your  s, 
Maria,  anfwered  he,  and  began  withal  to  relate  to 
her,  how,  the  day  before,  he  had  feen  the  little 
child,  and  been  informed  of  her  'wretched  and 
friendiefs"  fituatiori  5  how  he  had  companion  on 
hef?  and  took  her  home  with  him,  in  order  to 
fupport  hef  as  one  of  his  own  children. 

During  all  this  relation,  the  Jitt-e  girl  crept 
dofe  to  the  farmer's  fkirt,  and  ihed  tears  without 
ceaiing.  Maria,-,  who  was  as  companionate  as 
her  hufband, Sympathised  with  the  little  orphan  ; 
fhe  took  her  up  in  her  !ap:  and  endeavoured  to 
foothe  her  with  thefe  words  :'  "  Since  my  huf- 
band  has  promifed  to  be  your  father,  I  will  be 
your  mother  too.  Come  then,  my  dear  child, 
do  not  cry  any  more," 

Tmtftfmdi  But,  wife,  there  are  two  others be- 
6  ies,  who  are  equally  worthy  of  our  companion, 
the  brother  and  lifter  of  this  little  one. 

Maria,  M\\  my  wear,  I  fee  what  you  mean. 
We!',  we  muft  (end  for  them. 

The  next  clay,  the  farmer  put  the  hoffe  to  his 
Chaife-carr,  and  went  for  the  ocr-ir  two  orphans; 

Go,  ibid  his  wife,  embracing  him  at  hisdepar- 
ture;  go,  my  dear  ;  and  that  Being,   who  lends 

us 


too     THE  INCREASE  OP  FAMILY. 

us  thefe  children,  will  not  fail- to  fend  us,  zlfo) 
bread  for  their  nourishment. 

Mr.  Juitice  Garboil,  howe'/er,  thought  other- 
\vife.  He  had  been"  landlord  to  the  father  of 
thefe  unfortunate  little  ones,  and  was  well  appri- 
zed of  their  diftrefs.  Hearing  the  farmer  had 
taken  them  home  to  his;  houfe,  he  difpatched  his 
clerk  to  him,  with  a  peremptory  injunction  to 
fend  the  children  to  their  own  fettlemen',  (which, 
It  has  been  obferved  before,  was  in  litigation)  or3 
in  failure  thereof,  to  give  fecurity  to  his  own  pa- 
rifh,  that  they  ihould  never  become  chargeable 
to  itc 

Farmer  Townlend  was  filled  with  indignation 
on  receiving  fuch  a  meffage  if  this,  cried  he, 
be  his  worship's  humanity,  l  would  rather  be  the 
child  of  mifery,  for  an  age,  than  accept  the  con- 
dition of  that  overfwoln  bafhaw,  during  his  moft 
felf-complacent  hour,  Let  me  know,  however, 
what  bail  is  required  j '  \  am  ready.  Poor  inno- 
cents !  the  more  I  fee  oppreilion  endeavour  to 
tread  you  down,  the  dearer  you  become  to  me, 
and  the  more  I  feel  myfelf  interested  to  protect 
you. 

After  the  farmer  had  latisfied  every  demand 
of  Juitice  Garboil,  he  returned  to  his  houle,  and 
now.  faid  he,  furely  thefe  children  are  mine.  No- 
body will  queftion  my  being  a  father  to  them3 
by  one  title  or  other. 

You  are  anxious,  no  doubt,  my  young  friendsj 
to  know  what  became  of  th*  fe  children,  in  the  ie- 
rjuei.  Luckily,  i  can  inform  you,  by  relating  to 
you  a  converlation  between  Farmer  Townlend 

and 


THE  INCREASE  OF  FAMILY.      201 

and  a  perfon  who  happened  to  be  travelling  in 
that  part  ot  the  country,  fame  years  afterwards. 

All  the  little  family  were  at  play  together,  one 
evening,  before  the  farmer's  door,  while  Maria 
was  getting  their  fupper  ready.  He  himlelr  was 
in  the  midft  of  them,  partaking  of  their  fport  and 
feflivity.  The  traveller  happened  to  pafs  by,  jufl 
at  the. time,  and  flopped  to  gaze  on  this  ipeci- 
men  of  rural  happinefs. 

Are  all  thefe  children  ycur's,  neighbour  ?  faid 
he  to  the  farmer. 

Yes,  Sir,  anfwersd  Townfend  :  I  have  ten  of 
them  alive  ;  feven  that  Providence  beftowed  on 
me,  and  three  that  I  have  purchafed. 

Purchafed?  faid  the  traveller,  much  furpri- 
zed. 

Why,  Sir^  it  was,  in  fome  fenfe,  a  purchafe> 
replied  the  farmer,  and,  upon  this,  told  him  the 
whole  dory,  adding,  as  he>  concluded  it,  thank 
heaven,  neither  my  wife  nor  I  have,  at  any  time, 
repented  of  the  aclion.  It  was  the  bed:  bargain 
that  ever  I  made  in  my  life. 

The  traveller.  There  muft  be  no  frnall  ex- 
penfe  in  the  maintenance  of  fuch  a  family. 

Townfend.  It  feems,  at  firft  view,  a  difficult 
matter  to  rind  bread  for  them  all,  without  an  ef- 
fate  ;  for  any  one  can  eafily  fpend  the  fruits  cf 
his  own  labour  :  and,  unlefs  you  were  to  make 
a  trial,  you  would  fcarceiy  think,  it  poffibJe  to  be 
done.  I  owe,  perhaps*  to  this  difficulty,  the 
good  management  which  has. ever  kept  me  above 
want  ;  but  when  a  man  is  fober,  hborioas  and 
circumipeel,  he  will  always  have  a  trifling  fuper-i 


202      THE  INCREASE  OF  FAMILY, 

The  traveller.  And  your  children  arc  not  jea- 
lous of  thefe  ftrangera  ? 

Toivr.fend.  Strangers?  There-are  none  here. 
We  are  all  one  family  promifcuouily,  ■  There  is 
no ftrife,  but  which  will  be  the  moft  loving  and 
affedfcfcnate.  I  give  you  leave  to  guefs  which 
arc  my  children  by  birth  ;  at  times  T  can  hardly 
diitingiiifh  them  myfejf; 

1  hi  traveller.  But  I  do  not  fee  the  elder  of 
the  girls  -among  them.  • 

Towkjehd.  No,  dare  fay  not,  for  fhe  has  cr- 
ther  bufmefs  in  hand  ;  (he  mu-ft  look  after  her 
own  ho u (hold,  • 

The  traveller,     Is  fhe  married,  then  ? 

Toivnfind.  Yes,  that  (he  is.  She  fell  into  the 
piets  of  a  fifhei  man,  one  that  hauls  them  to  fome 
account^  !  promife  yoti,  and  makes  a  good  liveli- 
hood by  his  trade.  It  is  true,  t  fumiflied  him, 
pretty  nlentifully  with  dock. 

The  traveller.  What,  did  you  give  her  a  por- 
tion, then  ? 

Towrifend.  -  That-  muft  be  done,  to  get  a 
daughter  off  yoUr  hands.  Look  you  at  his  boats 
and  rifhing-tackle,  if  they  are  not  the  complcateft 
on  this  coafh   ■ 

The  traveller.  Still  you  have  no  occafion  to 
have  done  that.      She  was  nothing  to  you. 

lownfend.  No?  She  made  me  happier  than 
any  of  my  own  has  been  able  to  make  me  as  yet, 
on  account  of  their  age.  She  has  a  young 
daughter  already,  who  calls  me  grandfather. — • 
That  founds  (o  droll  ! 

Farmer  Townfend  then  entertained  the  tra- 
veller with  the  happinefs  and  fatisfaclion  that  he 

enjoyed, 


THE  HUMOROUS  ENGAGEMENT.  203 

enjoyed,  in  the  improvement  of  the  other  two 
orphans. 

The  youngeft  girl,  -fays  he,  is  big  enough  al- 
ready, to  afTift  my  wife  in  the  bufinefs  of  the 
houfe.  As  to  the  boy,  there  is  not  his  fellow  in 
the  country,  for  tending,  a  flock.  Ah!  if  you 
knew  how,  fond  they  all  are  of  me,  and  how 
much  I  love  them  in  return  ! 

His  heart  was  foftened  at  this  recital  of  his 
own,  and  a  tear  of  benevolence  moiftened  his 
eye.  He  wiped  it  away,  Jiowever,  immediately^ 
and  faid,  with  an ,  ironical  imile,  Ah!  Juftice 
Garboil,  Juftice  GarboiJ,  you  might  have  had  all 
this  happinefs,  if  your  heart  could  have  known 
a  duty  beyond  -the  letter  of  the  law.  You  forced 
me  to  give  bail ;  but  you  little  thought  it  was  to 
enfure  to  me,  forHife,  a  happinefs  to  which  you 
have  ever  been  a  ftranger. 


.THE  HUMOUROUS  ENGAGEMENT* 

TOMMY  Merton,  the  fon  ©f  a  gentleman 
of  fortune3  and  Harry  Sandford,  the  fon 
«f  2n  honeft  farmer,  were  both  under  the  care 
and  inftruclion  of  Mr.  Barlow,  a  country  clergy- 
rnan.  Harry,  in  one  of  his  walks  with  Mr.  Bar- 
low, had  faved  a  young  chicken  from  the  claws 

of 

*  This  ftcry  is  taken  from  the  hiftory  of  Sandford 
.And  Merton,  and  the  following  piese  from  a  DutcJ? 
wevel,  in  a  feries  of  letters? 


204  THE  HUMOROUS  ENGAGEMENT. 

of  a  kite.  He  had  taken  the  greateft  care  pota- 
ble of  its  little  wounds,  and  feci  it  every  day  with 
his  own  hands.  The  little  animal  was  now  per- 
fectly recovered  of  the  hurt  it  had  received,  and 
fhewed  fo  great  a  degree  of  affection  to  its  pro- 
tector, that  it  would  run  after  him  like  a  dog, 
hop  upon  his  (houider,  nelUe  in  his  bofom,  and 
eat  crumbs  out  of  his  hand.  I  am  my  was  ex- 
tremely furpnzed  and  pieafed,  to  remark  its  tame- 
nefs  and  docility,  and  afked  by  what  means  it 
had  been  Bia.de  iu  gentle.  Harry  fold  him  he  had 
taken  no  particular  pains  ab<*ut  it,  but  that,  as  the 
poor  little  creature  had  been  fadly  hurt,  he  had 
fed  it  every  day  till  it  was  well,  and  that  in  con- 
sequence of  that  .  kinunels,  it  had  conceived  a 
great  degree  of  affec+ion  toward  him.  Indeed, 
faid  Tommy,  that  is  very  furprizine,  for  I 
thought  all  birds  had  tiown  away,  whenever  a 
man  came  near  them,  and  that  even  the  fowls 
which  are  kept  at  home  would  never  let  you 
touch  them. 

Mr.  Barlow*  And  what  do  you  imagine  is 
the  reafon  of  that  ? 

Tommy.     Becaufe  they  are  wild. 

Air.  Barlow,  And  what  is  a  fowl's  being 
wild  ? 

Tommy,  When  he  will  not  let  you  come  near 
him, 

A4r.  Barlow.  Then  a  fowl  is  wild,  becaufe 
he  will  not  let  you  come  near  him  ;  and  will 
not  let  you  come  near  him,  becaufe  he  is  wild  : 
this  is  faying  nothing  more  than,  that  when  a 
fowl  is  wild,  he  will  not  let  you  approach  him. 
But  I  want  to  know  what  is  the  reafon  of  his 
being  wild  I  Tommy. 


THE  HUMOROUS  ENGAGEMENT,  acg 

Tommy.  Indeed,  Sir,  I  cannot  tell,  unlefs  it 
is  becaufe  they  are  naturally  fo. 

Mr.  Barlow.  But  if  they  were  naturally  fa, 
this  fowl  could,  not  be  fond  of  Harry. 

lommy.     That  is  becaufe  he  is  fo  good  to  it, 

Mr,  Barlow,  Very  likely.  Then  it  is  not 
natural  for  an  animal  to  runaway  from  a  perfoa 
that  is  good  to  him  ? 

Tommy.     No,  Sir,  I  believe  not. 

Air.  Barlow..  But  when  a  perfon  is  not  good 
to  him,  or  endeavours  to  hurt  him,  it  is  natural 
for  an  animal  to  run  away,  from  him  ;  is  it  not  ? 

Tommy.     Yes. 

Mr.  Barlow.  And  then  you  fay  that  he  is 
wild  5  do  you  not  ? 

Tommy,     Yes,   Sir, 

Mr.  Barlow,  Why,  then,  it  is  probable 
that  animals  are  only  wild,becaufe  they  are  afraid 
of  being  hurt,  and  that  they  only  run  away,  from 
the  fear  of  danger.  I  believe  you  would  do  the 
fame  from  a  lion  or  a  tyger. 

Tommyr     Indeed  I  would,  Sir. 

Mr.  Barlow.  And  yet  you  do  not  call  your- 
felf  a  wild  animal. 

Tommy  laughed  heartily  at  this,  and  faid,  no. 
Therefore,  faid  Mr.  Barlow,  if  you  want  to 
tame  animals,  you  muft  be  good  to  them,  and 
treat  them  kindly,  and  then  they  will  no  longer 
fear  you,  but  come  to  you,  and  love  you.  In- 
deed, faid  Harry,  that  is  very  true  :  for  I  knew 
a  little  boy  that  took  a  great  fancy  to  a  fnake  that 
lived  in  his  father's  garden,  and  when  he  had 
his  milk  for  breakfaft,  he  ufed  to  fit  under  a  nut- 
tree  and  whittle,  and  the  fnake  would  come  to 
him,  and  eat  out  of  his  bowl. 

Tommy.     And  did  it  not  bite  him  I 

S  Harry. 


266  THE  HUMOROUS  ENGAGEMENT. 

Harry.  No  ;  he  fometimes  ufed  to  give  it  a 
pat  with  his  fpoon,  if  it  ate  too  fail  ;  but  it 
never  hurt  Rim. 

Tommy  was  much  p leafed  with  this  conver- 
fatiorf',  and  being  both  good  natured,  and  defirous 
of  making  experiments,  he  determined  to  try  his 
fkii!  in  tamina;  animals.  Accordingly  he  took 
a  large  flice  of  bread  in  his  hand,  and  went  out 
to  feek  fome  animal,  that  he  might  give  it  to. 
The  rirft  thing  that  he  happened  to  meet,  was 
a  fucking  pig  that  had  rambled  from  its  mother, 
and  was  balking  in  the  fun  :  Tommv  would  not 
neglect  the  opportunity  of  (hewing  his  talents  ; 
he  therefore  called  Pig,  pig,  pig,  come  hither 
little  pig  !  But  the  pig,  who  did  not  exactly  com- 
prehend his  intentions,  only  grunted,  and  ran 
away.  You  little  ungrateful  thing,  fa  id  Tom- 
my, do  you  treat  me  in  this  manner,  when  I  want 
to  feed  you  ?  If  you  do  not  know  your  friends, 
I  muM  teach  you.  Saying  this,  he  fprung  at 
the  pi£,  and  caught  him  by  the  hind  leg^  in- 
tending to  have  given  him  the  bread  which  he 
had  in  his  hand  ;  but  the  pig,  who  was  not  ufed 
to  be  treated  in  that  manner,  began  ftruggling 
and  fqueaking  to  that  degree,  that  the  fow,  who 
was  within  hearing,  came  running  to  the  place, 
with  all  the  reit  of  the  Utter,  at  her  heels.  As 
Tommy  did  not  know  whether  llie  would  be 
pjeafed  with  his  civilities  to  her  young  one,  or 
not,  he  thought  it  mod  prudent  to  let  it  go  $ 
and  the  pig,  endeavouring  to  efcape  as  fpeedily 
as  poC?ole,  unfortunately  ran  between  his  legs, 
and  threw  him  down.  The  place  where  the  ac- 
cident happened  was  extremely  wet ;  therefore 

Tommy, 


THE  HUMOROUS  ENGAGEMENT.  207 

Tommy,  iri  failing,  dirtied  himfelf  from  head 
to  foot,  and  the  fow,  who  came  up  at  that  in- 
ftant,  paffed  over  him,  as  he  attempted  to  rife, 
and  rolled  him  back  again  into  the  mire.  Tom- 
my, who  was  not  the  cooleft  in  his  temper,  was 
extremely  provoked  at  this  ungrateful  return  for 
his  intended  kmdriefs  ;  and  lofing  all  patience, 
he  ieized  the  fow  by  the  hind  leg,  and  began 
pummelling  her  with  all  his  might,  as  (he  at- 
tempted to  efcane.  The  fow,  as  may  be  imagined, 
did  not  feiifh  fuch  treatment,  but  endeavoured 
with  ail  her  force,  to  efcape;  but  Tommy  keep- 
ing his  hold,  and  continuing  his  difciphne,  fhe 
ftruggled  with  fuch  violence,  as  to  drag  him 
feveral  yards,  fqueakmg  in  the  mod  lamentable 
manner,  in  which  fhe  was  joined  by  the  whole 
litter  of  pigs.  During  the  heat  of  the  conteif, 
a  large  flock  of  geefe  happened  to  be  croffing 
the  road,  into  the  midft  of  which  the  affrighted 
fow  ran  headlong,  drawing  the  enraged  Tommy 
at  her  heels.  The  goflings  retreated  with  the 
greateft  precipitation,  joining  their  mournful 
cackling  to  the  general  noife  ;  but  a  gander,  of 
more  than  common  fize  and  courage,  relenting 
the  unprovoked  attack  which  had  been  made 
upon  his  family,  flew  at  Tommy's  hinder  parts, 
snd  gave  him  feveral  fevere  fVrokes  with  his  bill. 
Tommy,  whofe  courage  had  hitherto  been  un- 
conquerable, being  thus  unexpectedly  attacked 
by  a  new  enemy,  was  obliged  to  yield  to  for- 
tune ;  and  not  knowing  the  precife  extent1  of  his 
danger,  he  not  only  fuffered  the  fow  to  efcape, 
but  joined  his  vociferations  to  the  general  fcream. 
This  alarmed  Mr.  Barlow,  whs,  coming  up  to 
S  2  the 


ac8  THE  HUMOROUS  ENGAGEMENT. 

the  place,  found  his  pupil  in  the  moft  woful 
plight,  daubed 'from  head  to  foot,  with' his  face 
and  hands  as  black  as  thofe  of  any  chimney- 
fweeper.  He  enquired  what  was  the  matter,  and 
Tommy,  as  foon  he  had  recovered  breath  enough 
to  fpeak,  anfwercd  in  this  manner  ;  Sir,  this  is 
all  owing  to  what  you  told  me  about  taming  ani- 
mals. I  wanted  to  make  them  tame  and  gentle, 
and  to  love  me,  and  you  fee  the  confequences. 
Indeed,  faid  Mr.  Barlow,  I  fee  )ou  have  been 
very  ill-treated,  but  1  hope  you  are  not  hurt  ; 
and  if  it  is  owing  to  arty  thing  1  have  faid,  I  (hall 
feel  the  more  concern.  No,  faid  Tommy, 
I  cannot  fay  that  I  am  much  hurt.  Why  then, 
faid  Mr.  Barlow,  you  had  better  go  and  waih 
yourfelf ;  and  when  you  are  clean,  we  will  talk 
over  the  affair.  When  Tommy  had  returned, 
Mr.  Barlow  afked  him  how  the  accident  had 
happened,  and  when  he  had  heard  the  tlory,  he 
faid  I  am  very  forry  for  your  misfortune,  but  I 
do  not  perceive  that  I  was  the  caufe  of  it,  for  I 
do  not  remember  that  1  ever  advifed  you  to  catch 
pigs  by  the  hinder  legs. 

'Tommy.  No,  Sir ;  but  you  told  me  that 
feeding  animals  was  the  way  to  make  them  love 
ine,  and  fo  i  wanted  to  feed   the  pig. 

Air.  Bar/oiv.  But  it  was  not  my  fault  that 
you  attempted  it  in  a  wrong  manner.  The  ani- 
mal did  not  know  your  intentions,  and  there- 
fore when  you  feized  him  in  fo  violent  a  manner, 
he  naturally  attempted  to  efcape,  and  his  mother 
hearing  his  cries,  very  naturally  came  to  his  af- 
jfrftarvce.  All  that  happened,  was  owing  to  your 
inexperience  ;  before  you  meddle  with  any  ani- 

ma!,, 


CHARLES     II. 


209 


trrat,  you  fhould  make  yourfelf  perfectly  acquaint- 
ed with,  us  nature-  and  difpohtion.  Had  you 
obferved  this  rule,  you  would  never  have  at- 
tempted to  catch  the  pig  by  the  hinder  leg,  in 
order  to  tame  it;  and  it  is  very  lucky  that  you 
did  not  make  trie  experiment  upon  a  larger 
animal. 


CHARLES     II. 

A   Drama    in    Five    Acts. 

From  the  German  of  Mf.  Stephanie,  but  with 
considerable  deviations  from  the  Original,  in 
the  two  laft  Acts. 

Characters. 

Charles  II.  Cromwell, gen. 

Earl  of  Derby".  Luke,  captain 

Lord  WyndhaM        Pemsel,  \r1P 
Lady  Mar  \rj>h  mother.  T  Algol  y 
h^dyWYNDHAM^biswi/e.  Pope,         1  Servants 
Henry,    his  fin.  Thomas,  1    to  Lord 

Elizabeth,  his  daughter.  James,      jIVyndham. 

PRE.FACE, 

THE  part  which  James  I.  king  of  England, 
took,  in  the  dihvute  between  the  bithops 
and  the  Preibyterians,  had  fo  violently  enraged 
the  latter,  that  after  his  death,  the)  took  the  ad- 
vantage of  fome  arbitrary  meafures  in  the  go- 
vernment of  his  fon  and  iucceiibr,  Charles  I.  to 
excite  the  whole  nation  to  open  revolt.  The 
S  3  intent 


no  CHARLES      II. 

intent  of  the  Prefbyterians  was,  to  annihilate  E=- 
pifcopacy,  and  to  lefTen  the  royal  prerogative  :  but 
the  Independents,  a  new  feci  which  had  fprung 
up  from  the  former,  aimed  at  the  total  abolition 
of  royalty,  and  the  eftabliihment  of  a  common-* 
wealth  in  its  ftead.  Cromwell,  who  had  made 
both  parties  equally  fublervient  to  his  ambitious 
views,  declared,  at  laft,  in  favour  of  the  indepen- 
dents. After  having  filled  the  parliament  and- 
the  army  with  perfons  devoted  to  his  fortune,  or 
the  dupes  of  his  hypocrify,  he  procured  a  formal 
fentence  of  death  to  be  pafled  againft  his  fove- 
reign.  The  Prefoytehans",  though  "they  faw 
themfelves  plainly  outwitted  by  his  cunning,  did 
not  dare  to  rife  up  againfVthe  power  which  he  had 
ufur'ped.  Thofe  of  Scotland  had  more  courage  ; 
they  called  over  the  eldeft  fon  of  Charles 
I.  from  France,  whither  he  had  fled  for  re- 
fuge, and  they  received  him  as  their  king,  though 
under  the  mod  fevere  reftriclions.  Cromwell, 
however,,  foon  marched  into  Scotland,  and  de- 
fea  ed  them  in  the  famous  battle  of  Dunbar, 
September  3,   1650. 

Mobilities,  which  were  fufpended  during  the 
winter,  began  afrcih  the  year  following.  Charles* 
If.  whom  the  Scots  had  proclaimed  king, 
was,  notwithstanding,  fo  difguited  at  the  fhte 
of  fubjeclion  and  reftraint  to  which  they  would 
have  reduced  him,  that  he  took  the  refolution 
of  quitting  Scotland,  Whither  Cromwell  was 
come  to  purfue  him,  and  of  entering  England 
with  an  army  of  fourteen  thoufand  men,  in 
hopes  of  feeing  it  augmented  by  the  Engliih 
byterians,  and  the  fecret  friends  of  the  royal 

eau 


C  H  AR  L-E  S      II.  211 

eaufe.      But  Cromwell  did  not  give  him  time  to 
receive  thefe  additions  of  ftrength  :    he>folIowed 
him  by  forced    marches,  overtook   him  with  a 
fuperior  army,    and  entirely  routed  the  Scottifh 
troops.     After  having  fought  bravely  to  the  very 
ja'ft,  Charles,    with  difficulty,    efc2p®d  off  the 
field  of  battle,  accompanied  by  fifty  men.     The 
diftreffes  to  Which  he  was  reduced  after  his  de» 
feat,  obliged   him  to  conceal   himfelf  under  the 
mearteft  difguifes,  in  order  to  efcape  from  the 
foldiers,  whom   Cromwell   had  fent  out,  every 
where,  in  fearch  of  him  ;  the  inftances  of  fidelity 
that  he  received  from  the  Earl   of  Derby,  the 
companion  of  his  flight,  from' Colonel  Wynd- 
hain  *  andhisfervants,  who  kept  him  concealed, 
notwithstanding  the  fevere  penalties  denounced 
by  the  parliament  >,  the  fanaticifm  of  the  parties 
which  theri  diftracled  England,  and  the  deplora- 
ble ftate  of  the'  nation  in  general,  during  this  fea- 
fon  of  tumult,  prefent  a  multitude  of  interefting 
iituations,  and  inflfu&ive  fcenes,  to  which  the 
author  has  endeavoured  to  give  connexion  in  the 
following  drama,  at  the  fame  time,  that  he  has 
iludied  to  preferve  hiftorical  truth  iri  the  leading. 
icliens  of  the  piece* 

CHARLES 

**  In  the  Drama  he  is  called  Lord  Wyndham* 


(      212      ) 

CHARLES      II. 

A    Drama. 

Act.  I.   Scene  I.     A  For  ell,  before  Day flight, 

Charles  drejjed  as  a  peajant,  is  hid  among  the  boughs 
of  an  oak.  Lord  Derby,  dfguifcd  in  the  fame 
manner,  comes  out  from  the  middle  of  a  thicket, 
and  advances  towaru  the  king. 

Lord  Derby.  It  is  too  foon  to  quit  your  re- 
treat, as  yet.  .  The  parliament  (okiiers  continue 
to  fcaur  all  quarters  of  the  foreft.  We  are  lia- 
ble, at  every  ftep,  to  fall  into  their  hands. 

Cbanes.  Derby,  1  rind  myfelf  endowed  with 
fuffieient  courage  to  itrugele  with  the  chagrin 
that  preys  upon  my  mind,  but  my  body  is  total- 
ly broken  down  with  pain  and  tarigue.  I  have 
already  pafTc-d  twenty  hours  in  this  deplorable 
fit  nation.  I  cannot  poflib'y  fupport  it  any  long- 
Drby. Sire,  I  conjure  yon,  pat  up  With  thefe 
inconveniences,  which  ainnot  be  of  Ions  durati- 
on, rather  than  tail  into  the  hands  of  your  ene- 
mies. They  would  be  implacable.  Our  mis- 
fortune, By  intoxicating  them  with  fuccefs,  has 
only  whetted  their  barbarity.  The  weight  of  it 
wou  d  fall  on  )ou.  Hut  1  hope  we  lhall  foon 
find  a  retrcu  more  commodious,  and  Jeis  dan- 
gerous than  tins. 

Char. a.     it   cannot   be   lor.2;   before    the   fun 
will  appear.     If  you   thought  darknels  lb  little 

favourable 


€  HA  K  L  E  S      II.  213 

favourable  to  our  fafety,  furely  theiight  of  the 
day  will  be  much  more  againft  us.  How  (hall  I 
be  able  to  hold  out  till  night,  in  my  prefent  fitu- 
ation  ?  The  mind  arms  herfelf  in  vain,  with  all 
her  force,  if  the  body  has  loft  whatfhould  fuftain 
her. 

Derby.  I  feel,  with  double  weight,  the  pains 
that  you  fuffer,  and  would  lay  down  my  life  to 
exempt  you  from  them  ;  but  fate  coiitrools  our 
"Wimes.  its  laws  are  immutable,  and  true  cou- 
rage is,  to  obey  them  I  would  facrifice  myfelf 
for 'your  prefervation  :  nevertheleis,  fhall  1  conr 
fefs  to  your  majefty  ?  It  would  give  melefs  re- 
gret to  lofe  you  here  before  my  eyes,  than  to  fee 
you  fall  into  the  hands  of  rebels,  and  adorn  their 
infolent  triumph.  I  hear  foldiers  coming.  ide 
yourfelf  from  their  fight.  When  they  are  paft? 
1  will  return  and  keep  you  company  again.  (He 
goes  into  the  thicket.) 

Charles.  Well,  faithful  Derby,  I  will  follow 
thy  advice.  I  will  bear  up  my  load  of  pain  and 
kard[rVp,rhough  i  were  at  laft  to  fall  dead  at  the 
foot  of  this  tree.  (ffe  bides  himfdf  among  tht 
branches.) 

S  C  E  N  E     II. 
Talgol-, .  Pembel. 

Talgol.  Should  not  we  do  better  to  reft  our^ 
felves  here  till  day-light  ? 

Pembel.  Why  here  ?  We  (hall  be  much  more 
at  our  safe,  before  a  table,  at  fome  inn. 

TskeL 


214  CHARLES      II. 

Talgok  You  may  try  the  experiment,  if  you 
will.  Everybody  is  fair,  afleep  yet.  Inftead  of 
going  to  iofe  my  time  in  knocking  at  doors,  I 
will  itretch  myfeif  d>-  n  here.  (He  lies  down  un- 
der the.  oak  in  whir!  the  kin)r  is  concealed.) 

PembA.  Ffom  the  top  of  this  tree  yon  may 
fee  the  day  ready  to  break  between  yon  hills. 
Do  not  you  hear  the  cocks  crow,  to  fummon  the 
hufbandman  to  his  early  toil  ?  We  fhall  rind  all 
the   houles  juit  opening..     Come,  rife;  let   us 

''ial^oL  What  I  have  once  refolved,  I  am  fure 
to  perform. 

:,nbeL  I  might  fay  as  much,  and  then  we 
muft  feparate,  I  change  my  refolves  no  more 
than  you  :  my  beard  (hews  it.  Until  Charles 
Stuart  (hall  fall  into  my  hands,  I  have  ("worn  that 
the  razor  fhall  never  touch  it.  You  fee  how 
long  it  is  grown  already. 

Ta/goL  It  is  ealier  to  bear  the  inconvenience 
of  a  beard,  than  of  wearinefs  and  fatigue. 

Pembel.  Are  you  not  afhamed  to  be  w<tary  in 
a  purfuit  that  may  make  your  fortune 

TulgoU  I  would  not  defire  a  fortune  at  this 
price. 

Pembel  The  thing  is,  thou  art  net  fuffici- 
enrly  enlightened.  Hut  1  can  prove  to  thee,  that 
it  were  impious  for  faints  to  faint  in  the  execu- 
tion of  heaven's  commands,  for  the  fake  of  a 
little  weannefs. 

TlilgoL  Heaven  has  not  commanded  me.  I 
have  not  fvvorn  by  my  beard  to  take  Charles 
Stuart.  And  if  1  may  afk,  what  right  have  you 
over  him  i 

Pembel 


CHARLES       IL  215 

,PembeL  A  right,  founded  on  the  good  old 
caufe  :  Shall  the  ungodly  have  dominion  over 
faints  ?  We  were  ftrayed  from  the  paths  of 
righreoufnefs,  and  heaven,  in  Its^wrath,  fent  us  a 
tyrant,  armed  with  a  rod  of  iron.  Now  that  we 
are  fanctirkd,  power  is  given  us  to  break  the  rod 
with  which  we  hay?  b^cn  fo  long  chaftifed. 

TJgoL  Still  1  fay,  it  is  wicked  to  reject  the 
kings,  who  were  allotted  to  us  from  above. 

Pembel.  The  Lord  will  have  no  king,  but 
himfelf,  to  govern  his  people.  No  fight  is  more 
pleafing  to  him,  than  that  of  the  army  at  prayers. 
That;  is  what  has  carried  the  good  old  caufe  fo 
far. 

Talgol.  Much  too  far.  Had  we  (topped  at 
the  abojifhing  of  popery  and  epifcopacy,  it  had 
been  well,  i  took  up  arms  rayfelf  to  attain  thefe 
ends  ;  and  with  this  view  alfo  we  called  you  to 
out  affirmance ;  but  you  have  managed  fo  as  to 
get  the  power  all  into  your  own  hands,  and  now 
you  exercife  it  according  to  your  errors.  You 
have  put  your  king  to  death.  That  will  cofl:  you 
dear. 

Pembel.  If  you  were  only  to  hear  Cromwell, 
he  would  teach  you  what 'to  think  on  the  fub- 
jecl:.  Thefe  are  his  words  :  "  When  !  would 
have  fpoken  for  the  re-eftabhfhment  of  the  king, 
I  felt  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth. 
A  plain  indication  that  heaven  had  hardened  his 
heart,  and  rejected  him."  But  arifwer  me  your- 
felf ;  Was  this  king  worthy  to  govern  us  ?  Did 
he  not  attack  us  firft  ? 

Talgol 


a«i6  C-H  ARLIS     fH. 

Talgol.  Yes,  certainly,  he  would  have  en* 
thralled  our  conferences  to  his  own  imaginati- 
ons. 

PembeL  Who  was  the  firft  that  rofe  up  to 
oppofe  his  defigns  ?   Was  it  not  you  ? 

Talgol.  Our  arms  were  not  aimed  at  him, 
but  at  his  wicked  counfellors. 

PembeL     They  were  the  fame  as  himfelf,  and 
he  as  they.     To  let  them  do  the  evil,  was  it  not 
t{ie  fame  if  he  did  it  himfelf  \ 
■lalgol.     True,  he  was  blameable  for  it. 
.-.PembeL      And  what  was  your  object  ? 
,  TalgoL     Liberty  of  confcience. 
PembeL     Did  he  grant  it  to  you  ? 
.  Talgol.     No. 

PembeL      Would  you  ever  have  obtained  it,  if 
-the  parliament  had  not. Supported  you  ? 
lalgol.     Never,  i  allow. 
PembeL     And  is  npt  the  parliament  the  voice 
of  the  nation  ? 

^Talgol.  Certainly,  inafmuch  as  it  represents 
the  nsrion. 

PembeL  It  is  the  parliament,  therefore,  that 
is  the  nation,  that  we  m.uft  obey,  efpecially  when 
we  are  to  well  paid  for  it. 

cIaho].  Your  arguments  begin  to  appear 
fomerhing  weightier  than  before. 

Pernb-!.  See  how  thou  wert  blinded.  The 
Lord  was  deiirous  to  pumfh  a  tyranr,  and .  chofe 
you  firit  to  begin  his  vengeance.  Other  instru- 
ments were  wanting  for  the  confummation  there- 
of, and  we  came  to  put  the  laft  hand  to  this 
great  jvork.  Do  we  not  act  then  in  concert  with 
you  ?  and  is  not  the  good  old  caufe  our's  as  well 

as 


CHARLES      If.  217 

as  your's"  ?  Ought  we  then  to  bear  with  one  of 
the  ungodly,  tiiat  would  have  bruifed  us  to 
pieces  ;  us  who  are  the  children  of  the  Lord  ? 

TalgoL     I  begin  to  fee  clearly. 

PcmbeL  Have  patience,  the  light  will  come 
down  upon  thee  (till  more.  When  delivered 
from  our  firft  tyrant,  why  did  we  go,  with  fwords 
in  our  hands,  to  Worcefter  ?  Was  it  not  to  hin- 
der his  fon  from  overturning  the  foundation 
that  we  had  laid  for  the  fecurity  of  our  confci- 
ences  and  our  liberties  ?  Has  not  heaven  appro- 
ved our  actions,  by  the  glorious  victory  that  we 
have  gained  ?  Stuart  came  sgainvt  us  with  a  nu- 
merous army.  Did  we  not  make  him  flee,  like 
the  chaff  before  the  wind  ?  When  the  Lord 
(peaks,  are  we  to  refift  hi?  voice  ? 

TalgoL  Thou  art  right.  He  hath  clearly 
manifefted  his  will. 

PembcL  fie  requires  that  our  confeiences  be 
pure  :  Stuart  would  defile  them  with  his  errors  ; 
znd  (hall  we  ceafe  to  piirfue  him  wiHi  vengeance  ? 

TalgoL  Heaven  forbid.  The  fon  is  not  yet 
fufficiently  warned  from  the  impieties  of  his  fa- 
ther, to  rule  over  us,  the  eleft.  We  mould  feize 
him  where-ever  we  can  find  him,  left,  otherwife, 
we  ourfelves  difobey  the  Lord. 

PembeL  Perhaps  we  mould  have  had,  before 
this  time,  the  good  fortune  to  take  him,  if  your 
heart,  by  its  doubts  and  waverings,  had  not 
offended  heaven.  Others,  lefs  fcrupulous,  may 
havefeized  this  happinefs  before  us.  Yes,  we 
fhall  certainly  find  Stuart  in  the  cuftody  of 
Cromwell. 

TalgoL     How  1  I  fhould  never  pardon  my- 

feif,  were  I  to  fee  him  taken  by  any  other  hands 

T  than 


218  CHARLES      II. 

than  our's.  The  cock  crows  again.  It  is  a  good 
omen.  Let  us  go  and  fearch  every  quarter  of 
the  country  for  our  victim.  I  no  longer  feci 
myfelf  fatigued. 

Pembel,  {in  a  canting  tone.)  If  heaven  had  not 
given  me  patience  and  inward  light,  your  under- 
ftanding  would  have  ftill  been  in  darkiiefs.  {They 
go  out.) 


SCENE      III. 
Charles, 

Perndious  Cromwell,  this  is  your  manner  of 
acting  !  It  is  not  fufficient  to  arm  againft  nie 
ambition,  by  the  allurements  of  power,  audaci- 
ous violence,  by  the  charms  of  wild  licentioui- 
nefs,  and  avarice,  by  the  incitements  of  rapine  ? 
Your  bafe  emiffaries  would  arm  againit  me  igno- 
rance and  fuperftition,  by  the  workings  of  en* 
thufiafm.  Your  impious  hypocrify  would  make 
heaven  itfelf  initrumental  in  ftifling  rne  lait  re- 
mainder of  virtue  in  men's  confeiences.  I  com- 
plained of  my  own  fufferings  and  diirreiTes  ;  I 
fhould  lament  over  the  fate  of  my  people,  '['hey 
do  not  fee  the  chains  which  your  murderous 
hand  is  forging  for  them.  I  lofe  but  my  crown, 
and  perhaps  my  life,  whereas  they  lofe  liberty? 
peace,  virtue  and  honour. 

SCENE 


C  H  A-RL-ES      II.  219 

SCENE      IV. 

(The  fan  is  on  the  point  of  rifing.) 

Charles,  Pope. 

Pope,  [dreffed  in  livery  ;  he  flips  under  the  ocJ?% 
a*id  looks  at  the  rifing  fun. )  A  new  day  begins. 
Gracious  Lord,  hear  me.  May  our  fovereign 
efcape  this  day  aifo  from  his  perfecutors.  Vouch- 
fafe  to  take  him  under  thy  prote&ion,  and  to 
watch  over  his  life.  There  are  faithful  fubje&s 
enough  who  wifh  for  his  reftoratioh,  but  few  who 
dare  to  take  up  arms  in  his  favour.  Thou  alone 
remaineft,  O  Lord,  of  all  who  could  affift  him. 
S'hevv  forth  thy  power  ;  reftore  to  our  fovereigrt 
his  crown,  and  to  us  peace  and  lawful  govern- 
ment. 

Charles.  I  can  reckon,  at  leaft,  one  faithful 
fubjecl:.  I  will  fee  him,  and  fpeak  to  him.  {He 
puts  the  leaves  and  branches  ajtdey  and  Jhews  him- 

m       .    . 

Pope,  (turning  his  head  every  way  to  hflen.)  I 
think  I  hear  a  voice.   (Go'n.g.) 

Charles,  (coming  down  from  the  tree.)  Stop  a 
moment,  my  friend,  I  befeech  you. 

Pope,  (with  a  look  of  fufpicion.)  What  do  you 
niake  there  ? 

Charles,  ^goihg  tovjard  him.)  You  feem  to 
me  to  be  an  honeft  man — 

Pope.     So  I  am  ;  what  then  ? 

Charles,     I  have  a  favour  to  requeft  of  you. 

T2  Pipe. 


220  CHARLES      IL 

Pope,     In  the  firft  place,  who  are  you  ? 

Charles.     I  aai  one  who  efcaped  after  the  bat- 
tle of  Worcefter.      I   have  palled   the  night  on. 
vhis  tree,  to  efcape  from  the  parliament  ibldiers, 
becaufe  I  am  of  the  oppofite  party.     I  perceive, ., 
by  your  feivent  prayer  juft  now,   that  you  are  of 
the  fame  party,  and  therefore  it  is  that  I  have  ta-.- 
ken  the  liberty  to  addreis  you. 

Pope,  tf  what  you  fay  be  true,  you  have  no- 
thing to  fear  from  me.  But  what  would  you 
have  me  do  for  you  ? 

ChavL-s.  I  fee,  you  wear  a  livery.  Who  is 
your  mafter  ? 

Pope.      Lord  Wyndham,  who  lives   in  this-, 
neighbourhood. 

Charles.     I  have  heard  people  fpeak  of  him. 
e.     Well,  I  hope.     It  is  true,  what  I  call 
would  make  him  criminal   in   the  eyes  of 
many,     But  ftij]  I  muft  do  him  juitice. 

Charles.  I  recoiled*,  this  nobleman  lived  re- 
tired from  all  party. 

Pope.  True,  but  do  you  know  for  what  rea- 
fori  ?  He  ferved,  with  his  family,  in  the  army  of 
the  deceafed  king.  At  the  battle  of  Nafeby,  he 
toft  his  eldeft  fort,  the  hopes  of  his  family.  Af- 
ter the  overthrow  of  the  royal  army,  and  the 
taking  of  the  king,  he  came  down  here  to  the 
country,  to  mourn  in  filence,  for  the  cruel  fate  of 
his  mafter.  He  (wore  never  to  return  to  Lon- 
don, before  the  people  mould  fubmit  to  the  fon 
of  their  lawful  fovereign.  And  he  adheres  unct- 
ly  to  his  word  \  fmce  that  unfortunate  battle,  he 

h2$  never  quitted  his  houfe. 

Charles ? 


CHARLES      II.  221 

Charles^  (afide.)     Heaven  be  praifed*     I  find 
an  afylum  at  length. 

Pope.     Now  tell  me  what  is  your  intention  ? 
Charles.     Let   me  requeft  you  to  conduct  me 
to  my  Lord.     He  will  companionate  my  diftref- 
fes  i  and  certainly  he  will  not  refufe  me  fhelter 
for  a  few  days  in  his  houfe. 

Pope.  I  am  going  thither  immediately.  I 
have  walkea,  :il  night  with  difpatches  from  him, 
on  bufinefs  of  importance.  I  would  chearfully 
take  you  with  me,  if  I  were  fure  that  you  were 
of  the  right  fide  ;  for,  otherwife,  it  would  be  of 
no  ufe  for  you  to  appear  before  him.  You  are 
aftoniihed,  perhaps,  that  I  dare/peak  my  mind 
to  you  with  fo  much  freedom;  but,  infpiteof  all 
the  tyranny  of  the  parliament,  we  are!  not  afraid 
to  give  our  thoughts  vent.  It  is  true,  we  are 
too  weak  to  Item  the  torrent  of  rebellion.  Powd- 
er may  oblige  us  to  be  quiet,  but  not  to  betray, 
or  even  to  difguife  our  fentiments. 

Charles,  I  am  delighted  to  fee  you  in  this 
way  of  thinking.  For  thefe  four  and  twenty 
hours  pari,  1  have  concealed  myfelf  in  this  tree, 
in  order  to  efcape  the  purfuit  of  Cromwell's  fol- 
diers.  I  have  fhed  tears  of  blood,  for  our  iofs 
of  the  battle  of  Worcefter.  My  heart  is  the 
king's  1  and  whatever  may  be  my  fate,  1  will  ne- 
ver be  feen  to  change. 

Pope.  Nor  f,  nor  my  mailer  neither.  Ah  ! 
that  unfortunate  battle  has  plunged  us  all  in 
grief.  What  can  have  become  of  our  young 
k'ng  !  Oh  heaven  !  may  he  ftill  be  alive,  and  ef- 
cape from  his  enemi  s  ! 

Charles.     Have  yc  u  heard  any  thing  of  him  ? 
i3  Pope. 


CHARLES      II. ' 

Pope.  Nothing,  unlefs  that  he  wanders  through 
the  country,  with  a  fmall  number  of  friends. 
Who  knows  whether  he  has  not  fallen,  this 'lad 
night,  into  the  hands  of  the  parliament  party  ? 
But  no,  I  hope  that  my  prayers  may  have  pre- 
served him. 

Charles.  My  brave  friend,  he  would  be  hap- 
py to  teftify  his  gratitude  to  you,  for  fo  faithful 
an  attachment. 

Pope.  Alas  !  perhaps  he  is  not  able  to  pro* 
vide  for  his  own  immediate  neceflities.  He  is, 
no  doubt,  much  more  diftrefTed  than  I  am.  It 
mould  be  my  part  to  aflift  him  with  the  little 
that  I  poflefs. 

Cbwles^  (feghing.)  Ah  !  fuch  generofuy  can- 
not fail,  fooner  or  later,  to  meet  with  the  re- 
ward that  it  deferves. 

Pope,  What  do  you  talk  of  reward  ?  Let 
England  only  receive  her  king,  and  I  am  paids 
to  the  fulleft  of  my  wifhes.  But  if  you  will 
come  with  me,  it  is  time  to  fet  off.  I  mould  be 
at  home  now. 

Charles^  {holding  him  by  the  hand.)  My  friend  ! 
flo>>  but  a  moment.      (He  makes  afignal.) 

Popey  (furprifed.)  What  are  you  doing?  I 
fear  you  are  a  traitor.  Well,  I  will  not  deny 
what  [  have  laid.  I  have  neither  wife  nor  chil- 
dren ;  and  my  fingle  perfbri  is  not  of  fuch  con- 
feqlience,  that  I  mould  make  myielf  uneafy  about 
it  :  befrde^,  i  is  but  too  great  an  honour  for  me, 
to  perifli  by  the  fame  axe  which  hss  beheaded 
the  king,  and  fo  many  great  noblemen.  Let 
your  crew  come  on.  1  hare  no  reafon  to  blufh, 
for  I  haye  only  fpoken  the  truth. 


CHARLES      II,  223 

Charles,  No,  my  friend  ;  you  judge  wrong 
of  me  :'  I  am  calling  one  of  the  companions  of 
my  flight,  who  lies  hid  in  yonder  thicket.  Ws 
lay  the  moft  implicit  confidence  in  you.  I  could 
only  whh  to  fee  every  Englishman  have  fa  nobis 
a  way  of  thinking  as  yqur's.  is, 


SCENE       V, 
Charles,  &erby>  Pcp> 

Derby,  (fiarihd.)     What  do  I  fee  ? 

Charles,  There  is  no  danger,  I  am  going  t3 
follow  this  worthy  man/  He  ferves  Lord  Wynd- 
ham,  whofe  dwelling  is  hard  by. 

Derby,  Lord  Wyndham  I  Are  we  fo  near  to 
his  feat  ? 

Pope.     It  is  but  an  hour's  walk  from  hence. 

Charles.  Do  you  fee  any  danger  in  afking  him 
for  fhelter  r 

Derby.  Nofife  at  a]h  My.  lord  is  a  faithful 
friend  to  the  royal  caufe. 

Pope.  Yes,  by  my  faith,  is  he,  and  whoever 
is  of  a  different  way  of  thinking,  ought  not  to 
come  into  his  houfe.  We  pray,  every  dav,  for 
the  fafety  of  the  prince,  I  do  not  know  if  my 
lord  prays  with  more  earneftbefs  for  his  only 
fen.  Nay,  when  I  attended  him  at  the  battle  of 
Nafeby,  and  the  corpfe  of  His  eldeft  Ton,  ail  co^ 
vered  with  blood,  was  brought  before  him,  his 
tears,  I  believe,  were  fl  ed  as  much  for  the  king's 
>*tef€at,  as  for  his  own  lofs. 

Charley 


%2*  CHARLES      IK 

Charles,  (af/de  to  Derby.)     Shall  we  go  to- his 
houfe,  then  ? 

Derb),  (ajtde  to  Charles.)     Yes,  if  1  might  ad- 
vife  your  majefty. 

Pope,  (overhearing.)  JVIajefty  ? — Heavens  !  I 
believe  it  is  the  king  himlelf.  Yes,  my  heart 
aiTuies  me  that  it  is.  [Fails  at  his  feet.)  Your 
majefty  will  pardon  me  for  having  fpoken  fo 
rudely.  But  how  mould  J  imagine  that  a  king 
or  England  was  concealed  in  this  drefs  ?  I  mall 
be  pardoned.*  however,  by  your  majefty,  fince, 
without  making  yourlelf  known,  you  difcovered 
my  inmoft" thoughts.  What  can  1  fay  more?  I 
have  not  power  to  fpeak,  1  am  fo  tran/ported 
with  joy*  W  hat  a  fttppinefs  tor  fo  poor  a  mart 
as  1  am,  that  the  foyereign  of  three  kingdoms 
ihould  command  my  fer vices  ! 

Charles.  What  are  you  doing,'  my  friend  ? 
Ycur  ardour  tranfports  you;  .1  am  not  what 
ycu  fay., 

Pope.  Oh  !  yes,  you  are,  in  the  fight  of  hea^' 
ven  aw\  earth.  Why  mould  you  difguife  your- 
felf  ?  Your  countenance  difcovers  you.— And  I, 
that  dared  to  call  you  a  traitor  !  I  am  as  much 
in  the  right  now,  as  I  was  deceived  before.  On- 
ly let  your  majefty  lay  your  hand  upon  my  heart. 
M  outd  i  beat  with  fa  much  violence,  if  I  was 
IK  t  in  \hc  prefence  of  m\  king  ? 

Gharhsi  Rife,  my  friend,  your  miftake  may 
cam    our  ruin. 

Derby,  Would  the  king  be  without  a  reti- 
nue ? 

Pope.  He  fhould  not.  But,  alas  !  the  vil-- 
Jain  Cromwell  has  left  hiui  none.     However,  he 

needs 


CHARLES      II.  225 

needs  no  retinue  to  be  ftill  my  king.  I  befeech 
you,  tell  me  that  you  are  lb.  You  do  not  deign 
to  anfwer  me.  I  fee,  you  both  fear  to  truft  me  : 
and  yet  I  dare  to  appeal  to  your  majefty ;  after 
Yfhat  you  have  heard  from  my  own  mouth,  can 
you  refufe  me  your  confidence  ?  If  there  is,  in 
all  my  veins,  a  drop  of  difloyal  blood,  let  it  over- 
flow my  heart,  and  choke  the  fprings  of  life. 

Charles.  I  am  perfuaded  you  are  an  honefr 
man,  and  therefore  I  do  not  wifh  to  deceive 
you. 

Pope,'-  Wei!,  my  liege,  it  is  enough.  -  Men 
do  not  follow  a  guide  whom  they  diftruf':,  This 
road  leads  to  my  lord  Wyndham's,  Go  thither 
without  me  :  but  firft,  here  are  my  piilols  ;  take 
them,  and  (hoot  me  through  the  head,  I  dars 
not  anfwer  for  myfelf,  finee  you  have  fufpicions 
of  my  hondty.  [Charles  makes  fign 5  to  Lord  Der^ 
fyy  for  his  advice^  who  fortifies  his  approbation.) 

Charles^  {to  Pope.)  You  deferve  to  know  me. 
I  am  the  unfortunate  king  of  Scotland. 

Popey  (vehemently.)  And  of  England  too,  and 
Ireland  ;  V\\  maintain  it.  Your  majefty  has  as 
much  right  to  on^  as- the  other. 

Chirks,  You  fee  our  danger  ;  make  hafte  to 
bring  us  to  a  place  of  fafety.  Conduct  us  to 
Lord  Wyndham's  ;  but  I  conjure  you,  tell  no- 
body who  I  am,  not  even  your  mafter. 

Pope.  Sire,  I  am  but  a  poor  peafanr,  yet  X 
know  that  the  requeft  of  a  king  is  a  facred  in- 
junction to  a  faithful  fubject  ;  and  I  would  no: 
iofe  that  name;  efpecially  to-day,  for  the  whol? 
world. 

Charlu 


2%6  C  H  A  R  L  L  S      IL 

Charles.  You  poiTefs  the  mod  important  fe~ 
cret  of  the  State,  but,  i.  believe,  you  are  capable 
of  treafuring  it  up  faithfully  in  your  breaft. 

Pope.  Ah  !  Sire,  1  would  face  the  trioft 
dreadful  torments,  to  defer ve  your  praife. 

Charles.  Derby,  my  legs  have  not  flrength 
enough  to  carry  me  as  far  as  our  horfes. 

Pope^  (eagerly.)  Where  are  they  ?  Where  arc 
they  ? 

Derby.  Down  *mong  thofe  thickets.  I  will 
go  for  them. 

Pope,     No,   no  ;  we  are  too  near   the  road- 
here  ;  we  may  be  furprized.     Let  me  carry  your 
majeily  to  them.     Then  we  (hall  have  the  foreft' 
all  the  way  home. 

Charles.  I  would  not  give  you  this  trouble,  if 
I  could  fland. 

Pope^  (taking  him  in  his  arms.)  Come,  my 
Liege,  (as  he  goes  along.)  Shew  me  a  man  of* 
more  importance  than  myfelf.  The  greateft  fe* 
cret  of  the  itate  in  my  breaft,  and  the  fate  of 
*he  three  kingdoms  upon  my  fhoulders.  (Ihey 
g*  out.) 

ACT 


CHARLES      II.  2%y 

A       C       T         II. 

SCENE      I. 
A  room  in  Lord  Windham's  Cafile. 

(Windhcun  fitting  at  a  table^  thought  fid  and  melan- 
choly, H:nryy  his  fony  enters  and  falutes  him, 
Windham  does  not  obferve  him^  but  continues  full 
buried  in  profound  medication, ) 

Henry.  Father,  I  conjure  you,  banifh  this 
XDelancholy  tbat  opprefTes  you. 

Windham,  {looking  at  him  with  an  air  of  dejec- 
tion.) My  fon,  the  battle  is  loft  ;  that  battle  on 
which  our  laft  hopes  were  refted.  Nor  is  it 
known  what  is  become  of  the  king.  I  tremble 
to  think  that  he  may  have  funk  under  his  mis- 
fortunes. Then  who  could  ftop  the  fury  of  the 
rebels,  or  oppofe  their  defigns.  And  do  you  bid 
me  not  to  mourn  for  the  fate  of  my  country  ? 

Henry.  Your  grief  is  juft,  but  it  endangers 
your  life.  What  would  become  of  your  wife 
and  your  children,  if  they  .were  fo  unfortunate  as 
to  lofe  you  in  thefe  turbulent  times. 

JVyndham.  Death  would,  perhaps,  be  the 
moft  deferable  thing  for  us  ail.  You  fee  what,  is 
our  fituation.  All  the  valuable  remains  that 
time  had  fpared,  of  an  ancient  nobility,  have 
perimed  under  tortures,  or  languish  in  proscrip- 
tion and  exile.  Adventurers,  more  defpicable 
for  their  vices  than  their  obfeurity,  occupy  the 
feats  of  our  peers  in  parliament.      Inftead  of  our 

bravo 


225         charles    rr. 

brave  generals,  we  fee  ignorant  tradefmen  fill  the 
firft  polls  of  the  army.  Fanaticifn*,  of  the  moft 
abominable  nature,  reigns  in  the  place  of  religi- 
on. Frantic  preachers,  pf  a  thoufand  fects, 
drown  the  voice  of  the  regular  minifters  of  the 
gofpel.  Hypocrify,  under  the  appearance  of  pi- 
ety, gives  a  loofe  to  the  moft  fcandalous  excef- 
fes  ;  fhej uftifies  her  crimes  by  the  moft  atroci- 
ous blafphemies,  which  (lie  afcribes  to  the  Su- 
preme Being,  The  true  friends  of  this  country 
are  perfecuted  ;  and  infamy  is  feated  on  the 
throne  of  juftice.  Can  life  be  of  any  value, 
while  it  is  confined  to  view  fuch  horrid  lights  as 
thefe  ? 

Henry,  No,  father,  it  would  be  intolerable, 
were  thefe  evils  to  continue  for  ever.  But  why 
fhould  we  fuffer  our  courage  to  be  caft  down  ? 
Who  knows  I — 

Windham.  On  what  foundation  can  we  build 
a  hope?  The  royal  army  is  difperfed.  If  the 
prince  were  even  living,  where  would  he  find 
forces  to  retrieve  his  fortune  ?  His  friends,  dif- 
heartened  by»  a  Ions:  feries  of  overthrows,  far 
from  daring  to  refill  the  torrent  of  rebellion,  are, 
perhaps,  deftined,  by  their  ruin,  to  augment  the 
general  devaluation.  '  Our  laft  refource  is  only 
the  fwelling  of  this  tyranny  to  its  height.  That 
period  approaches  ;  and  the  people  of  this  na- 
tion, finding  themfelves  oppreded  by  a  heavier 
yoke  than  they  ever  yet  experienced,  will  arm 
themfelves  with  all  their  native  refolution,  to 
(hake  it  off.  Bur  how  many  troubles  and  difor- 
ders  will  bring  about  that  happy  revolution  !  I 
fhail  not  live  Ions;  enoueh  to  be  a  witnefs  to  it  : 
b  but, 


:  H  A  RLES      II.  229 

but,  my  fon,  if  thou  (halt  furvive  me,  remain, 
for  ever  fteady  in  the  principles  which  I  have 
.taught  thee.  Never  efpoufe  the  caufe  of  a  des- 
potic parJiament.:  it  will  become  the  moil  dread- 
ful fcourge  that  ever  opprefied  this  nation.  Re- 
main rather  inactive  (it  will  be  the  moil  prudent 
conduct)  until  the  people,  recovered  from  their 
fatal  errors,  be  conftrained  to  wifh  for  the  go- 
vernment, which  they  have  juft  now  abolimed. 

Henry,  I  fwear,  under  your  hand,  that  thefe 
facred  in  ft  rucHons  (hall  never  depart  from  my 
heart  and  memory. 


S     C    E    N     E      II. 
if'yndbam,  Henry  y  Pope, 

Pope.  My  lord,  her  ladyfhip,  your  fitter,  is 
much  better,  but  (he  earneftly  deiires  to  fee  her 
mother  to-day.  Colonel  Lane  prefents  his  re- 
fpec~ts.     He  is  going  to  embark. 

Wyndham.     For  what  country  ? 

Pope.  For  France,  my  lord.  I  faw  them 
fend  his  baggage  aboard  j  for  the  fliip  is  to  fail 
to-morrow,  by  break  of  day. 

Wyndham,  (fighing.)  One  brave  citizen  more 
banifhed  from  his  country  !  The  commonwealth 
vrill  foon  behold  its  foundeft  members  Scattered 
far,  far  away.  Have  you  learned  nothing  of  the 
king's  deftiny  ? 

Pope,  He  is  ftill  alive,  my  lord.  He  wanders 
about, this  part  of  the  country,  accompanied  by 
a  faithful  friend. 

U  Wyndham, 


230  CHARLES      IL 

am.      Reduced  to  hide  himielf  in  his 

own  dominions  !  What  a  lamentable  fituation  ! 
But  heaven  be  praifed  that  he  ftill  lives.  Run 
immediately,  and  carry  this  news  to  my  mother. 

Pope.  I  have  brought  hither  two  perfons,  who 
efcaped  from  the  battle  of  Worcefter,  and  requeft 
fhelter  in  your  houfe  for  a  few  days. 

Wyndham,  Let  them  come  in.  [Pope  gc,e$ 
aid, ) 


SCENE      III. 
JVyndham,  Henryc 

Henry,  W hat,  father,  will  you  receive  thefe 
Grangers,  without  knowing  them  ?  Suppofe  they 
were  enemies,  in  difguife  ! 

Wyndham.  And  what  then,  my  dear  child  ? 
What  harm  can  they  do  to  us?  Bear  witnefs, 
that  we  are  faithful  to  our  king.  All  England 
knows  it.  I  have  never  denied  my  principles, 
which  are  dearer  to  me  than  my  life. 


SCENE      IV. 
Charles,  Derby,  Wyndham,  Henry,  Pope. 

Wyndham.     Good-morrow,  friends.      I  un« 
derftand  that  you  defire  to  take  fhelter  in  my 

Jzoufer 

Charles* 


€  H  A  R  L  E  S      II.  231 

Charles  Yes,  my  lord,  we  are  come,  with 
confidence,  to  throw  ourfelves  under  yo\ar  lord- 
fnip's  protection. 

'IVyndbam.  I  am  ready  to  receive  you,  when 
I  know  who  you  are. 

•  Charles.  Some  of  the  king's  moft  zealous 
friends.  Your  lordfhip  knows,  I  fuppofe,  that 
the  royal  army  was  defeated,  three  days  ago  :  we 
were  feparated  from  his  company.  The  dread 
of  falling  into  the  hands  of  rebels,  forced  us  to 
put  on  this  difguife.  We  beg  your  lordlhip  to 
allow  us  a  fafeguard,  until  the  roads  are  more 
clear,  that  we  may  return. 

Pope^  (afide  to  Wyndham,  after  he  had  placed  arm 
chairs  for  them.)     My  lord,  they  are  fatigued. 

Wyndham.  Sit  down  and  reft  yourfelves.  I 
am  willing  to  believe  your  bare  word.  Indeed, 
what  view  could  you  have  in  calling  yourfelves 
of  another  party  ?  The  parliament  has  conquer- 
ed the  king,  but  not  the  hearts  of  his  faithful 
fubjects  :  I  profefs  myfelf  one  of  that  number. 
If  you  are  only  come  to  be  fpies  on  me,  or  to 
found  my  principles,  you  fee,  I  avow  them  j  your 
commiflion  is  fulfilled.  If  you  were  to  ftay 
longer,  you  would  learn  no  more.  However,  f 
give  you  the  protection  that  you  demand,  and  if 
you  are  what  you  fay,  I  give  it  with  pleafure. 

Charles.-  My  lord,  receive  our  thanks,  and  be- 
lieve us  to  be  incapable  of  impofing  on  you.  We 
belonged  to  the  Scottiih  army. 

JVyndham.     In  that  cafe,   1   Kjoice  that  I  car: 

be  of  fervice  to  perfons  of  worth.     Command 

my  h-oufe  ;    but  -firft  (in  a  Pathetic  voice)  make 

Vz  '    hails 


23*  CHAR  L  E  S      IE 

hafte  to  inform  me  whatever  you  know  of  the 
king.  . 

Charles.  After  the  unfortunate  battle,  he  left 
Worcefter  about  fix  o'clock,  in  the  evening,  ac- 
companied by  a  body  of  fifty  men.  He  galloped 
twenty- fix  miles,  without  halting  ;  after  which, 
he  thought  it  moft  advifeable  to  feparate  from 
his  efcort,  and,  with  the  Earl  of  Derby,  alone,  in 
his  company,  he  threw  himfelf  into  the  adjacent 
foreft.  Since  then,  nothing  particular  has  hap- 
pened to  him. 

Wyndham.  Let  heaven's  protection  attend  all 
his  Heps.  My  heart  is  relieved  from  a  heavy 
anxiety.  Fie  has,  at  leaft,  efcaped  the  firft  dan- 
ger. We  were  ignorant,  whether  he  had  efca- 
ped alive  from  the  field  of  battle,  [wiping  bis  eyes.) 
Happy  Derby  !  Heaven  has  trufted  to  your 
hands,  the  pledge  of  England's  happinefs  ;  jne- 
ferve  this  facred"  depofit  for  us,  even  at  the  ha- 
zard of  your  life.  You  have  ever  been  fteady 
to  your  duty  ;  let  your  conduct  mil  be  worthy 
cf  your  former  virtue. 

Derby,  (with  vehemence.)  It  will,  my  lord,  it 
will.     1  know  him  fufBciently  to  fwear  for  him. 

Wyndham^  (looking  earnejlly  at  Derby.)  My 
friend,  your  features  are  not  quite  unknown  to 
me. 

Derby.  I  muft  be  greatly  altered,  Wyndham, 
if  you  do  not  know  me  again. 

Wyndham.  What,  can  it  be  Lord  Derby  him- 
felf? 

Derby.     The  fame. 

ff^'ndham.  (embracing  him.)  Brave  Derby  ! 
(perceiving  Derby  to  look  anxioryly  at  the  king^  he 

turns 


.     CHARLES      II.  i33 

turns  his  eyes  toward  him,  and  cries,  with  an  emo- 
tion offurprize,)  Shall  I  believe  my  eyes  ? 

Derby.  They  are  as  true  as  your  heart  is. 
Here  you  fee  my  facred  depofit.  I  confign  it  to 
your  charge. 

Wyndham,  (feizing  the  king's  hand,  and  kijfmg  it, 
with  tranfport.)  Ah  !  Sire  !  how  happy  am  I! 
Receive,  in  thefe  tears,  the  firft  tefiimony  of  my 
principles.  I  fee  heaven  declares  itfelf  in  your 
favour,  fince  it  has  made  choice  of  me  to  receive 
you. 

Charles.  My  lord,  I  know  your  loyalty  well  ; 
I  therefore  refign  myfelf  to  you,  without  fcruple. 

Wyndham.  Then  I  vail  not  go  about  to  offer 
your  majefty  unnece±Fary  aflarances.  This  is 
my  only  (on.  I  have  brought  him  up  in  my 
own  principles.  He  burns  already  with  impa- 
tience, to  fried  his  blood  in  his  fovereign's  caufe. 

Harry.  Yes,  Sire,  I  have  often,  in  my  own 
mind,  vowed  to  do  fo.  With  joy  I  now  renew 
that  vow,  upon  your  majefty's  hand. 

Charles.  I  accept  your  fervices,  againft  a  hap- 
pier time. 

Wyndham.  Will  your  majerty  permit  me  to 
prefent  to  you  the  reft  of  a  family,  who  are  en- 
tirely devoted  to  your  interest  ? 

Charles.  You  excite  a  ftrong  defirc  in  me,  of 
knowing  your  lordfhip's  family  ;  1  was  going  to 
a,'];  you  the  favour  of  being  introduced  to  them. 

Wyndham,    (to  Pope.)     Make  hafte  j  call   my 

mother,   my  wife,  and   my  daughter  j  let  them 

come  hither -immediately  :   but   1   forbid   you  to 

;o  them  what  you  have  j'uil  now7  heard, 

U  3  Pope, 


234  CHARLES     II. 

Pope.  My  lord,  I  knew  every  thing,  and  yet 
I  kept  it Tecret,  even  from  your  lordihip.  Judge 
if  I  can  do  the  fame  with  others. 


SCENE      V. 
Charles^  Derby  ^  Wyndham^  Henry. 

Wyndham.  We  have  not  let  a  fingle  day  pafs, 
without  addreffing  to  heaven  the  molt  ardent 
prayers  for  your  majefiy's  fafety.  They  have, 
no  doubt,  been  heard.  You  deign  to  truit  your- 
ielf  to  my  faith  ;  by  fo  doing,  you  honour  my 
fceal  with  the  mod  flattering  recompenfe. 

Charles*  And  I,  on  the  other  hand,  look  on 
this  generous  avowal,  as  a  mitigation  of  my  mis- 
fortunes.  Had  it  not  been  for  you,  I  was  not 
eyen  fure  of  finding  a  fhelter. 

Wyndham.  Why  has  not  fate  placed  the  fame 
force  in  our  hands,  that  we  feel  invigorate  our 
fouls  ?  Your  deftiny  would  foon  be  decided. 
But,  alas  !  i  have  nothing  to  offer  you,  but  in- 
effectual vows,  and  a  weak,  unarmed  family. 
While  our  withes  would  be  to  replace  your  ma- 
jefty  on  the  throne  of  your  fathers,  at  the  cod 
of  our  blood,  our  power  goes  no  farther  than  to 
offer  you  an  opfcure  retreat. 

Charles.  And  that  is  ail  that  we  have  to  de- 
fire,  at  prefent.  We  have  been  borne  away  by 
a  torrent  of  ill  fuccefs.  It  is  violent  and  im- 
petuous, but  in  time  it  fpends  its  force.  The 
blood  of  my  fubjec'ts  is  too  dear  to  permit  me  to 

opnoie 


CHA  RL  E  5      II.  235 

oppofe  the  invincible  fway  of  fortune,  with  an  in- 
effectual refinance.  Let  us,  at  the  fame  time, 
avoid  the  dictates  o(  a  blind  defpair,  and  reft, 
armed  in  our  courage  alone.  The  time  will 
come,  when  we  fhall  be  able  to  make  ufe  of  it 
with  more  prudence  and  dignity. 


SCENE       VI. 

Charles,    Derby,   Wyndham,  Henry,  Lady    Mary, 
Lady  frVyndharn,   Elizabeth,   Pope, 

Lady  Mary,  Son,  what  was  the  fo  prefTmg 
occafion  of  your  fending  for  us  ? 

Wyndham,  {prcfenting  his  family  to  the  king. ) 
This  is  my  mother  ;  tins  is  my  wife  ;  this  young 
perfon  is  my  daughter  :  they  have  ail  the  fame 
fentiments  with  myfeif.  i  have  the  honour  to 
prefent  'o  your  majefty  fome  of  your  rnort  faith- 
ful   iubjefts. 

Lady  Mary.     What  do  I  hear  ?    His  Majefty  ? 

Lady  Wyndham  and  Elizabeth,      O  heaven  ! 

Wyndham,  (with  tears  in  his  eyes.)  Yes,  your 
king. 

Lady  Mary,  {falling  at  his  feet.)  Ah  I  Sire, 
do  you  ftill  live  ?  —  My  children,  it  is  ftill  our 
fpvereign,  though  in  this  drefs.  Follow  my 
example.  Receive  him  as  a  king.  Fall  at  his 
feet,  and  fwear  fealty,  refpe&,  and  allegiance  to 
him. 

Wyndham.  Your  majefty  will  pardon  me  : 
the  excefs  of  my  joy  had  made  me  forget  my  fir  ft 

duly. 


236  CHARLES      II. 

duty.      (He falls  at  his  feet,  as  do  Lady  Wyndhart, 
Elizabeth  and  Henry. ) 

Charles,  Rife,  my  friends.  Thefe  marks  of 
honour  are  very  little  fuitable  to  my  fituation. 
I  am  very  far  from  my  throne.  (He  taifes  Lady 
Mary  :  the  others  rife.)  Lord  Wyndham,  is  this 
all  your  family  ? 

Wyndham.  Yes}  Sire  :  I  could  wifh  it  more 
numerous,  that  I  might  offer  you  a  greater  num- 
ber of  devoted  fervants. 

Charles,  (placing  h'wf  If  between  Lady  Mary  and 
Lady  Wyndham,  and  taking  each  of  them  by  the  hand.) 
My  lord,  and  his  fon,  have  promifed  me  their 
fervices  ;  but  I  will  be  under  your  particular 
protection.  The  joy  which  appears  in  your 
eyes,  perfuades  me  that  1  (hail  not  have  much 
trouble  to  obtain  it. 

Lady  Alary.  We  (hould  be  happy,-  were  it  in 
our  power  to  /hew  our  attachment  to  your  ma- 
jetty's  crown,  in  circumftances  lefs  difcouraging. 
I  have  loft,  in  the  defence  of  your  caufe,  three 
fons  and  a  grandfon  ;  but  their  death  never 
made  mebluih,  as  they  received  it  in  the  perform- 
ance of  their  duty.  You  fee  here  all  that  re- 
mains of  our  family,  except  a  daughter  that  I 
have  ftill  living.  There  is  none  of  us  to  whom 
life  is  more  dear,  than  your  honour.  We  all 
burn  with  zealous  emulation  to  ferve  you.  Your 
misfortunes,  and  thofe  of  your  father,  embitter- 
ed mi  [t  feems  .'s  if  heaven  would  re- 
lax of  its  feverity,  by  placing  before  my  e)es,  the 
object  of  my  moft  tender  anxiety,  and  by  giving 
me  the  means  of  preserving  his  life.  Ah  !  Sire, 
what  a  happy  compenfatio 

Charles, 


C  KARLES      II.  2p 

Charks^  {pr  effing  her  hand  between  his. )  I  am 
no:  furprized  to  behold  fuch  noble  virtues  in  a 
family  which  does  honour  to  you  ;  but  I  admire 
that  you  yourfelf  fhouid  have  fall  preferved  fuch 
conikney  and  refolution,  and  that  my  ill  fuccefs, 
which  has  made  my  very  belt  friends  fall  off,  has 
not  abated  the  firmnefs  of  your  courage. 

Wyhdbdm.  Sire,  we  inherit  thefs  principles 
from  our  anceftors,  A  few  days  before  his 
death,  my  father  fent  for  me,  and  in  a  voice, 
which,  even  from  its  weaknefs,  was  heard  the 
more  attentively,  he  fpoke  to  us  thus  :  ct  My 
children,  England  has  feen,  during  the  lafr  three 
reigns,  a  fucceilion  of  peaceful  and  happy  years  ; 
but  I  fee  now  riling,  on  every  fide^  clouds  that 
forebode  the  'moft  violent  (terms.  Prepare  to 
encounter  them.  They  will  ihike  the  whole 
realm  to  ire  centre.  But  -fland  ye  firm,  in  the 
fmdft  of  the  tempeft.  Continue  to  love  your 
country  ;  be  faithful  to  your  fovereign,  and  ne- 
ver forfake  the  crown,  though  you  fee  it  hang  on 
a  bu(li.,>  Thefe  words  made  fo  powerful  an 
impreflion  upon  our  rninds,  that  all  the  tumul- 
tuous revolutions,  which  have  lince  taken  place 
in  the  commonwealth,  have  not  been  able  to  ef- 
face them, 

Charks.  Lord  Wyndham,  you  are  worthy  of 
the  virtuous  inheritance  which  your  father  has 
Jeft  you. 

Lady  JVyndham.  My  hufband  would  have  loft 
my  efteem,  if  he  had  not  cultivated  that  inheri- 
tance for  his  children. 

Henry.  And  I  will  count  it  my  glory  to  tran- 
smit It  to  mine. 

Elizabeth, 


233  CHARLtS      IL 

Elizabeth.  Sire,  I  am,  as  yet,  nothing  on  the 
theatre  of  this  world  ;  but,  after  the  example  of 
my  parents,  [  feel  myfelf  capable  of  undertaking 
every  tiling  for  your  fervice. 

€3tUrliik  Rcfpe£bble  family  \  what  tranfport- 
ing  happin-efs  do  I  experience  in  the  midft  of 
you  !  After  having  fuffered  fo  much  from  in- 
gratitude and  perfidy,  my  heart  breathes  here  at 
liberty,  while  I  receive  thefe  affectionate  proofs 
of  your  attachment. 

Derby.  At  prefent,  my  friends,  it  is  time  to 
confuit  the  fecurity  of  the  king.  Prudence  for- 
bids us  to  prolong  our  ftay  here.  The  whole 
country  is  full  of  parliament  foldiers.  I  know 
not  whether  there  be  fo  much  as  a  fingle  corner 
in  the  three  kingdoms,  that  can  afford  us  a  fe- 
cure  retreat,  in  the  prefent  general  ferment  of 
people's  minds.  The  bufinefs  is,  therefore,  to 
confuit  means  for  quitting  England,  by  the  leaft 
dangerous  way, 

CbarLs.  My  defign  is  to  embark  for  France, 
in  the  firft  veflel  that  I  can  rind.  Lord  Wynd- 
ham,  you  know  the  country,  and  can  eafily  fa- 
vour this  defign.  ■ 

Wyndham,  Chance  feems  to  have  difpofed 
every  thing  for  its  fucceeding.  A  fervant,  whom 
3  Jvad  fent  to  my  fifter  at  Shoreham,  informed 
me,  that  a  veflel  is  to  fet  fail  from  thence  to- 
morrow, at  day-break,  for  Normandy.  Colonel 
Lane,  a  zealous  friend  to  your  majeily's  caufe, 
takes  advantage  of  this  opportunity,  to  efcape 
from  the  purfuit  of  Cromwell's  people. 

Derby.  And  the  opportunity  feems  pretty  fa- 
vourable. 

Charles, 


CH  A  R  L  E  S      II,  239 

Charles.  I  am  ready  to  embrace  it,  provided 
-we  can  go  to  the  harbour,  without  any  danger. 

Wyndham.  That  mall  be  my  care.  I  have 
triifty  perfons  to  accompany  you. 

Derby.  Our  horfes  have  had  fevere  duty. 
We  (hall  have  occafion  for  them  to-night.  Will 
your  lordmip  order  care  to  be  taken  of  them  ? 

Wyndham.  Pope,  go  and  look,  after  them. 
Provide  every  thing  for  them  that  is  neceflary. 

Pope.     My  lord,  I  obey  you. 


SCENE       VII. 

Charley     Derby,    Wyndham,    Lady    Mary,    Lady 
Wyndham,  Elizabeth,  Henry. 

Wyndham.  We  muft  ufe  the  moft  delicate 
precautions,  in  order  to  remove  the  flighted  caufe 
offufpicion.  Your  majefty  knows,  I  prefume, 
that  our  infamous  parliament  has  promifed  a  re- 
ward to  thofe  who  fhould  apprehend  your  per- 
fon  ;  and  have  threatened,  with  the  moft  fevere 
punimment,  all.  fuch  as  (hall  harbour  or  conceal 
you,  I  will  anfwer  for  my  domefttcs  ;  they  are 
equally  above  fear  and  corruption  ;  but  we  are 
furrounded  by  a  fanatical  populace,  againft  whom 
we  mud  be  upon  our  guard. 

Lady  Mary.  You  need  only  keep  yourfelf 
concealed  during  the  dayv,  and  fet  oft  in  the  dufk 
of  the  evening,  in  order  to  be  at  the  harbour 
before  day-break. 

Charles,  This  plan  agrees  perfectly  with  my 
rjrefent  occafions.     It  will  be  a  real  kindnefs  .to 

me. 


24o  CHARLES      II. 

me,  ai  well  as  Lord  Derby,  to  be  permitted  to 
refrefh  ourfelves,  after  our  fatigues,  with  a  pretty 
long  ileep  :  and  thus  too,  we  ihall  be  able  to  e- 
lude  all  inquifitive  eyes. 

Lady  Il'indham.  Would  not  your  majefty  ra- 
ther chafe  firft  to  recruit  yoyrftrength  withfomc 
nourifhment .? 

Charles.  I  confefs  to  your  ladyihip,  that  drow- 
finefs  gets  the  better  of  hunger  :  reft  is  the  molt 
immediately  neceffary  to  us  at  prelent. 

Lady  Wyndbam*  I  will  give  orders,  that  your 
majefty  may  retire,  when  you  pleaie.  Elizabeth) 
come  with  me. 


SCENE       VIII. 
Charles^  Derby,  Wyndham,  Lady  Alary,  Henry, 

JVyndhanu  A  thought  ftrikes  me.  My  fifter 
has  invited  my  mother  to  go  and  fee  her  this  e- 
vening. 

Lady  Mary.  Son,  let  me  have  the  honor  of 
fettling  our  plan  for  the  king's  fafety,  as  I  ihall 
that  of  putting  it  in  execution.  1  will  let  out  at 
nightfall ;  and  our  facred  guefts  may,  under  fa- 
vour of  the  darknefs,  accompany  us  in  fome  dif- 
guife,  without  the  leaft  danger. 

Charles.  My  fafety  will  be  ftill  more  dear  to 
ipe,  fince  I  Ihall  owe  it  to  you. 

JVpidbam.  In  the  mean  time,  I  will  fend  a 
tneftage  to  my  lifter,  and  defire  her  to  engage  a 
piriTage  with  the  captain  of  the  fhip,  for  two  other 

gentlemen, 


CHARLES      1L  241 

jgetitlemen,  and  to  requeft  him  not  to  fet  fail,  until 
.they  arrive. 

Derby.     A  good  thought,  my  lord,  and  b 
Colonel  Lane,  to  take  the  charge  of  feeing  pro- 
per accommodations  prepared  for  us,  but  with- 
out mentioning  our  names. 

IVyndham.     Henry,  tell  James  to  get  himielf 
ready  to  fet  off  immediately  for  my  lifter's. 

Henry,     Yes,  father,  I  will  let  him  know  your 
orders. 

Lady  Mary.     Your  majefty  vwll  permit  me  al- 
Jo  to  go  and  make  the  neccffary  preparations  for 
our  departure* 


S    C    E    N    E      IX, 
Charles,  Derby,   IVyndham, 

Wyndham.  I  hope  that  with  thefe  precauti- 
ons, your  majefty  will  efcape  the  firft  fury  of  the 
tempeft. 

Charles.  I  mud  own.,  I  draw  a  favourable 
prefage  from  the  appearance  of  our  plan.  But, 
my  friends,  now  we  are  alone,  fit  down  each  be- 
fide  me.  Let  us  devote  a  few  minutes  to  the 
examination  of  my  circumftances  :  fuppofe  me 
arrived  in  France,  without  accident,  what  re- 
fources  remain  to  me  for  the  future  f  The  cold 
reception  that  I  met  with  at  Paris,  two  years  a- 
go,  do  not  allow  me  to  expect  mighty  £uccour§ 
from  that  kingdom. 

Derby.     France  is  fcarcely  recovered  from  the 

confufion  of  her  own  civil  wars.     Policy  |orbids 

X  her 


H2  CHARLES      II. 

her  to  arm  in  your  caufe  :  but  the  defcendants 
of  the  brave  Henry  IV.  cannot  fail  of  being  ge- 
nerous. The  laws  of  hofpitality,  at  leaft,  will  be 
facred  in  favour  of  your  perfon  ;  and  that  is  the 
only  object  of  our  concern  at  prefent. 

Wyndham.  The  wounds  of  this  diftracled 
country,  can  only  be  clofed  by  the  hands  of  well- 
affecled  and  judicious  citizens.  Time,  alone, 
will  finally  heal  them.  Leave  to  us  the  charge 
of  preparing  the  way  for  this  event,  and  of  for- 
warding its  accomplishment. 

Ghat  its.  I  refign  myfelf  to  your  zeal  ;  but  I 
fhudder  to  think  of  the  infults  and  perfections 
that  you  will,  perhaps,  be  obliged  to  undergo. 
When  I  landed,  laft  year,  in  Scotland,  the  tirft 
object  that  irruck  my  view,  was  the  bleeding  head 
of  gallant  Montrofe,  whofe  only  crime  was, 
his  inviolable  fidelity.  This  appalling  fight, 
purlues  me  even  in  my  dreams  :  it  afflicts  me 
more  than  my  own  dangers.  How  much  pre- 
cious blood  may  the  re-eftablifhment  of  my  for- 
tune (till  cort  me !  Even  yourfelves,  whofe  loy- 
alty I  can  never  Efficiently  reward,  who  knows 
whether  even  you  may  not  fall  melancholy  vic- 
tims to  the  undertaking  ?  There  wanted  but  this 
cutting  thought,  to  make  my  calamities  com- 
plete. 

Derby.  Such  fentiments  as  thefe,  on  your 
majefty's  part,  would  be  fufficient  to  repay  us 
for  the  facririce  of  our  lives.  The  duty  of  the 
nobility,  is,  to  fupport  the  rights  of  your  crown, 
and  their  chiefeft  honour,  to  defy  all  the  dangers 
to  which  this  great  undertaking  may  expofe 
them. 

•  Wyndham* 


CHARLES      II.  243 

Wyndham.  Yes,  Sire,  there  is  nothing  but  I 
dare  expect  from  our  endeavours,  if  your  for- 
titude only  feconds  them.  The  prefent  violent 
crifis  of  affairs  cannot  laft  long.  The  foundefl 
part  of  the  nation  figh  for  that  tranquility  which 
they  enjoyed  under  your  father  and  grandfather. 
The  people,  loaded  with  taxes,  impofed  on  them 
for  the  maintenance  of  a  murderous  foldiery, 
will  foon  rife  againft  exactions  that  become  every 
day  more  tyrannical.  Difcord  is  ready  to  break, 
out  between  the  parliament  and  the  army. 
Cromwell,  who  underhand  foments  it,  will, 
fome  time  or  other,  throw  off  the  mafk  all  at 
once,  and  by  difcovering  his  ambitious  fchemes, 
will  exafperate  even  his  own  party.  Become  the 
object  of  general  execration,  he  will  endeavour 
to  fupprefs  it,  by  violence  and  terror ;  but  a 
people  ftill  (haken  from  the  impulfe  of  a  long  and 
vehement  concuffion,  do  not  fubmit  in  filence  to 
the  yoke.  The  tyrant's  life  will  be  parled  in 
Continual  alarms.  Iir.psired  by  the  exeefTes  of 
his  youth,  tormented  by  his  crimes,  and  har- 
raffed  by  remorfe,  he  will  foon  finifh  his  days, 
without  eRablifhing  his  ufurped  power  ;  and  for 
the  completion  of.his  views,  will  leave  none  be- 
hind him,  but  two  fons,  who  muftfoon  bend 
under  the  weight  of  their  adventitious  fortune, 
becaufe  not  endowed  with  their  father's  daring 
genius.  Then  it  will  be  that  the  nobilitv,  tr?s 
at  length  to  exert  their  voice,  and  to  fup'port  it 
with  their  arms,  will  make  the  nation  acknow- 
ledge you  as  their  fovereign,  a  fovereign  worthy 
of  ruling  them,  after  having  matured  his  virtues 
in  the  fchool  of  adverfity.  # 

a* 


X  2  Chirks* 


244  CHARLES      II. 

Charles.     Sage  Wyndham,  I  accept  your  pi 
phecy  '.-Mi  joy. 

v/.  As  a  faithful  fubject'  to  your  ma-' 
jefty,  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  lay  before  you  the 
profpecl  Of  thefe  hopes,  in  order  both  to  ttftify 
our  zeal,  and  to  fupport  ) our  courage.  But  I 
fhould,  alfo,  on  the  other  hand,  think  myfelf  a 
betrayer  of  the  conftitution,  if  J  did  not  lay  be- 
fore your  majefty,  what  the  people  have  a  right 
to  expedf.  from  you.  While  I  deteft  the  attroci- 
ous  crime  committed  on  the  perfoh  of  )our  fa- 
ther, I  muft  prtfume,  with  the  laudable  freedom 
of  ah  Englishman,  to  fay,  that  he  frequently  vi- 
1  our  privileges,  in  order  to  give  the  greater 
ftrerch  to  his  prerogative,  and  that  a  prince  ought 
to  he  the  firft  to  refpect  the  laws  of  his  country. 

Charles.  'The  misfortunes,  and  the  faults  of 
his  reign,  will  .afford  me  a  ftriking  leflbn  all  my 
life  time.  But,  Wyndham,  you  know  whether' 
they  mould  be  attributed  to  him  :  his  temper 
breathed  indulgence  and  humanity  :  his  lull  fenV 
ttments  teftify  his  courage  and  great nefs  of  foul. 
Heaven  grant  that  1  may  refemble  him  in  thefe 
virtues.  I  know  no  reproach  with  which  li is 
memory  can  be  lo  ded,  fave  that  of  having  pla- 
ced his  confidence  it:  perfons  unworthy  of  it,  and 
who  abufed  it,  both  to  his  people's  prejudice, and 
his  own.  The  choice  of  true  friends  is  difficult, 
in  private  life.  Is  it  eafier  for  a  prince  to 
diffTnguifh  wife  minifters,  in  the  midft  of  fo  many 
courtiers,  who  are  intcreited  to  impofe  on  him 
by  aiTumed  good  quahtfeS  ?  The  more  he  loves 
hh  people,  the  Iefs  can  he  fufpeft  thofe  who  are 
round  him,  of  being  Grangers  to  the  fame  fenti- 
v  ments. ' 


CHARLES      H.  245 

ments.      The  misfortune   of  my   father,    and 

which  many  kings  have  fufTered  in  common  with 

him,  was,  to  have  lived   long  in  profperity.     I 

fhall  have  the  advantage  of  him,  in  the  falutary 

experience  of  misfortune.     Perhaps,  at  no  other 

price,  will  heaven   give  me  the  inflrudtion  that 

can  enable   me  to  govern  wifely.     I  fhall  not 

think  that  I  have  paid  for  it  too  dear,   if  I  can. 

render  it  conducive  to  the  happinefs  of  the  nati- 

on  ;  and  if  I  can  make  England  forget,  under  a 

reign  of  juftice  and  of  peace,  the  troubles  which 

have  fo  long  diflracled  her,     I  will  take,  for  my 

pattern,  that  Henry,  whofe  name  will  be  for  ever 

dear  to  the  French,   and'  whom  we  ourfelves  are 

forced  to  revere.      I  go  into  his  country,  to  col= 

Ject  the  remembrance  of  all  his  virtues,    Firm, 

like  him,  in  adverfity,  I  will  imitate  his  clemen- 

cyj   when  1   mount  the  throne.     There  are  my 

engagements  with  my  people;  and  do  you,  whom 

I  look  upon,  at  this  moment,  as  reprefenting  my 

people,  receive  the  oath,  which  I  make  to  refpeci 

and  defend  its  rights,  until  my  dying  day. 

Wyndham.  Yes,  Sire,  with  pleafure  we  re- 
ceive this  facred  vow.  Your  own  happinefs  de- 
pends on  it,  as  much  a^that  of  the  nation. 

Derby,  And  mine  fhall  be  to  confecrate  eve- 
ry hour  of  my  life,  to  the  purpofe  of  enabling 
you  to  accomp-ifh  it, 


x3 


246  CHARLES      II. 

SCENE      X. 

Charles^  Derby,  JVyndham,  Lady  Wyndham* 

Lady  Wyndham.  Sire,  every  thing  is  prepared 
for  your  retiring  to  reft. 

Charles.  Your  ladyfhip  could  not,  at  this 
moment,  bring  me  more  agreeable  new6.  My 
body  is  fo  weighed  down  with  laffitude  and  fleep- 
inefs,  that  I  feel  it  fink  under  its  own  weight. 
My  dear  Lord  Derby,  I  would  afk  your  affiit- 
ance  ;  I  have  fcarcely  flrength  to  ftand.  (Lady 
Wyndham  and  Derby  fipport  him.)  My  Lord,  \ 
hope,  when  I  rife,  that  you  will  find  my  fpirits 

v:r,  and  my  fenfes  lefs  heavy  than  at  prefent. 
\mdham.     Our  hearts  will  watch  round  your 
majefty. 

Claries,  I  go,  then,  to  repofe,  with  as  much 
fecurity,  as  if  1  had  a  numerous  guard  at  my 
gate.  (Lady  Wyndham  and  Derby  conducl  him  out, 
Wyndham  following  them,  flops,  on  feeing  fames  and 
Pope  enter.) 

SCENE      XI. 
Wyndham,  James,  Pope, 

James.     My  lord,  lam  ready  to  fet  off. 

Wyndham.  Hark  ye,  James,  I  am  going  to 
charge  you  with  a  very  important  commiiTion. 
I  would  not  truft  you  with  it,  did  I  not  know 
you  to  be  a  man  of  probity  and  honour.     In 

your 


CHARLES      It.  24? 

your  whole  life,  you  never  will  be  able  to  acquire 
to  much  glory,  as  on  this  occafion.  It  is  the 
moil  fignal  proof  that  you  can  give  of  your  pru- 
dence and  loyalty. 

James.  My  lord,  with  refpecT:  to  loyalty,  I 
will  yield  to  no  man  in  England  j  as  to  prudence^ 
I  hope  that  your  lordfhip  ihall  have  no  reafon  to 
repent  making  choice  of  me, 

Wyndham.  Well,  take  my  own  horfe,  and 
ride,  in  all  hafte,  to  my  filler's.  You  will  tell 
her  that  my  mother  will  go  to  her  houfe  this  e- 
vening.  At  the  inftant  of  your  arrival,  (he  muft 
engage  two  places  in  the  vefiel  which  fets  fail  to- 
morrow for  Normandy.  They  are  for  two  per- 
fons  whom  all  our  family  moft  highly  regard. 
You  will  find  Colonel  Lane  at  my  filler's  ;  con- 
jure him,  from  me,  to  take  this  trouble  upon 
himfelf,  and  not  to  fuffer  the  captain  to  weigh 
anchor,  until  my  two  paffengers  are  aboard.  It 
is  a  favour  that  I  requeft  of  him  by  our  former 
friendfhip.  I  would  give  you  a  letter  for  him,  if 
I  were  not  afraid  of  your  being  flopped  by  the 
parliament  foldiers,  in  which  cafe,  the  letter 
would  difcover  our  project. 

James.  My  lord,  I  will  fpeak  to  as  good  ef- 
fect as  any  writing. 

IVyndham.  If  any  one  a(k  you  whence  you 
come,  or  whither  you  are  going,  take  care  not 
to  appear  confufed,  but  have  your  anfwer before- 
hand. 

James.  It  is  ready.  Your  fitter  is  fick.  I 
am  fent  by  you  to  learn  how  (he  is.  I  will  even 
tell  her  to  feign  herfelf  worfe  than  (he  is,  to  her 
own  people5  and  1  will  do  the  fame  here  in  the 

village, 


~4  CHARLES      H. 

village,  that  her  mother  may  have  a  fufficient 
pretext  for  fetting  off"  at  night,  to  fee  her. 

PVyv.dkam.  But  that  you  may  be  there  in  time3 
ftop  no  where  on  the  road. 

fames.  Your  lordfhip  fhall  be  fatisfied  with 
my  conduct  in  every  refpeit. 

JVyjidbayn.  That  you  may  underitand  why  I 
fpeak  to  you  in  fo  earned  a  manner,  know  that 
the  king's  fafety  is  the  object  of  your  comrnifii- 

James,  (kif[:ng  the  fkirt  of  his  coat.)  I  will 
thank  your  lordfhip,  to  my  dying  day,  for  think- 
ing me  worthy  to  perform  it. 

Wyndbam.  None  but  fouls  that  are  alive  to 
honour,  can  know  the  value  of  confidence.  Ha- 
pten to  execute  your  charge,  and  may  heaven 
Nvatch  over  your  expedition. 


SCENE      XII. 

James,  Pope* 

(James  going  out,  is  flopped  by  Pope.) 

Pope.     James,  it's  the  king  ! 

JameSy  {overjoy t J.)  Do  you  think  I  did  no't 
hear  ? 

Pope,  (graveh.)     I  tell  you  it's  the  king. 

James \     Well  ? 

Pope.  I  have  brought  him  fafe  into  the  houfe  ; 
do  you  take  care  that  he  may  come  out  as  fafe- 

james* 


CHARLES      If.  249 

James,     Have  I  ever  been  behind  you,  upon 
any  occanon  ? 

Pope.     On  this,  I  hope,  you  may  furpafs  me, 
James.     It  will  not  be  the  fault  of  my  zeal, 
Pope.     Think   of  the  glory   that  awaits  us, 
when  it  will  be  faid,  over  the  whole  world,  Pope 
and  James,   in  the  fervice  of  Lord  Wyndham, 
had  it  in  their  power  to  difpofe  of  the  king's  life, 
and  they -faved  him.     Though  but  poor  fervants, 
they  thought  and  a6ted  as  nobly  as  their  mafter. 
James.       Comrade,   my   name,   I'll   warrant, 
mall  not  be  blackened  in  biftory. 

Pope,   (Jhaking  him  by  ihe  hand.)    We  will  both  ' 
be  written  in  letters  of  gold. 


III. 


SCENE      I. 

Pope,  Thomas. 

Thomas.  I  have  juft  been  Tiftening  at  the 
king's  chamber  door.  He  is  found  afleep.  I 
affaire  you,  comrade,  fince  I  know  him  to  be  in 
fafety,  my  heart  is  at  eafe,  juft  as  if  f  were  come 
out  from  a  long  imprifonment,  Our  prayers 
muft  have  rifen  up  to  heaven. 

Pope.  I  do  beiieve  that  thofe  of  rioneft  men 
will  be  heard,  before  thofe  of  hypocrites, 

Thomas, 


ISO  CHARLES      II. 

Thomas.  And  yet  I  mall  tremble,  until  the 
king  be  fairly  landed  on  French  ground.  If 
thefe  curfed  rebels  were  to  feize  his  perfon,  they 
would  (hew  him  no  more  mercy  than  they  did 
his  father. 

Pope.  My  hair  (lands  on  end  at  the  thought. 
Heaven  preferve  us  from  fo  great  a  misfortune  ! 

Thomas.  I  think,  heaven  mult  declare  on  our 
fide.  We  merely  wifh  right  to  take  place,  and 
religion  to  be  maintained ;  whereas  thefe  new 
fects  outrage  the  Almighty,  by  their  pride.  Lafl: 
year,  before  the  battle  of  Dunbar,  did  not  the 
Scottifh  army  look  upon  itfelf  as  an  army  of 
faints  ?  Were  not  their  minifters  heard  faying 
aloud,  to  the  Supreme  Being,  that  if  he  did  not 
fave  them  from  their  enemies,  they  would  no 
longer  own  him  for  their  Lord  ?  Infatuated 
men  I  o5  if  j*  )~iac}  *been  :n  tncir  p0Wer  to  make 

to  themfelves  another! 

Pope.  By  that  pride  they  were  undone.  I 
am  not  forry  for  it.  They  did  not  ferve  the 
prince's  caufe  fincerely.  He  had  thrown  him- 
felf  into  their  arms,  and  they  treated  him  as  a 
prifoner.  They  removed  him  from  the  army, 
becaufe  they  faw  that  he  gained  the  affections  of 
the  foldiery,  by  his  valour.  They  alfo  fent  home 
five  thoufand  brave  fellows,  whom  they  thought 
too  ftrongly  attached  to  his  intereft.  They 
v/ifhed  to  have  the  glory  of  fubduing  Cromwell, 
all  to  themfelves.  They  had  reduced  him  to 
extremity.  It  was  all  over  with  him,  if  they 
had  continued  upon  the  heights,  as  their  general 
would  have  had  them  :  but  their  head-ftrong 
minifters  faid,  that  they  had  wreftled  with  the 
Lord,  in  their  prayers,  that  they  had  forced  him 

to 


CHARLES      IL  251 

to  grant  them  the  victory,  and  to  deliver  the  e- 
nemy  into  their  hands.  They  came  down, 
therefore,  like  madmen,  into  the  plain,  and  were 
beaten.  They  deferved  it,  for  their  blindnefs. 
They  talked  of  difcourfing  with  the  Lord,  in  the 
fame  manner  as  of  a  familiar  converfation  with  a 
friend.  If  they  had  been  victorious,  perhaps, 
they  would  not  have  treated  the  king  any  better 
than  Cromwell  himfelf  would  have  done. 

Thomas,     I  like  much  better  to  fee  his  majefty 
in  our  houfe,  than  in  their  camp. 


SCENE       IL 

Wyndham^  Popey  Thomas, 

JVyndham,  Thomas,  mount  your  horfe  ; 
crofs  the  foreft,  and  go  poft  yourfelf  upon  the 
hill.  Take  care  that  you  fuffer  none  of  the  par- 
liament foldiers  to  approach  us,  without  inform- 
ing me.  As  foon  as  you  fee  any  of  them  come 
this  way,  gallop  down  hither  as  fail  as  poffible, 
to  acquaint  me. 

Thomas.  It  is  enough,  my  Lord.  I  thank 
you  for  being  fo  good  as  to  employ  me. 


SCENE      III. 
Wyndham^  Pope, 

Wyndham.  Thomas  is  an  honeft  lad.  One 
can  fee,  on  his  coum^-jnce}  the  joy  that  he  fe  Is 
for  the  king's  fafety. 


252  CHARLES      II. 

Pope.  My  countenance  mull  be  very  deceit. 
ful  too,  my  lord,  it  you  do  not  read  the  fame  fen* 
timents  in  it. 

IVyndbam.  Oh  !  I  am  not  uneafy  on  your  ac- 
count. You  are  the  firft  that  gave  proof  of  your 
loyalty.  But  what  is  the  matter  ?  you  feem 
thoughtful. 

Pope.  My  lord,  I  recollect,  this  moment, 
that  the  blackfmith,  to  whom  I  gave  the  king's 
horfe  to  fhoe,  looked  at  it  with  great  attentiono 
If  he  fhould  fufpect  any  thing,  and  fpread  an  a- 
larm  ? 

Wyndhanu  -  Why  need  we  create  to  ourfelves, 
imaginary  terrors  ?  One  cannot  guefs  at  the 
fight  of  a  hqrfe,  who,  his  mafter  is.  However,  we 
mull  neglect  nothing  :  go  and  keep  watch  be- 
fore the  gate,  and  have  an  eye  upon  every  thing 
that  may  happen  without  there. 

Pope,     should  1  deny  that  we  have  ftrangers? 

Wyndham.  No,  certainly,  fin.ee  they  were  feen 
Xo  alight  here.  To  deny  them,  would  raife  fuf- 
picion.  We  muft  only  all  agree  to  fay,  that  they 
came  from  Dorchefter. 

Pope,  it  is  hard  to  have  occafion  for  a  lie,  in 
order  to  avoid  harm,  and  to  fulfil  one's  duty, 
[He  goes  out.) 

SCENE     IV. 
Wyndhatn. 

With  fo  true  hearts  about  us,  I  think  we  may 
defy  the  molt  vigilant  enquiry.      How  happy  am 

It 


■*€■!!  AiL  £  S       if.  253 

*[,  In  the  prefeiit  circumftance,  that  I  always 
found  means  to  have  honeft  people  about  me  ! 
Had  I  been  lefe  particular  in  the  choice  of  my 
fer vanes,  i  (hould  have  loft  the  glory  of  laving 
my  Sovereign's  life.  The  bare  thought  of  hav- 
ing contributed  to  his  prefervation,  lifts  me  a- 
bove  myfelf.  Audacious  rebels  !  overturn  our 
ancient  conftitution,  trample  upon  Jaw  and  ho- 
nour, glut  yourfelves  with  the  blood  of  your  fel- 
low-citizens 1  This  vain  ihado^  of  liberty  that 
you  purfue,  draws  you  on,  by  licentioumeis,  to 
llavery.  You  will  foon  be  obliged  to  invite  him 
to  the  throne,  with  all  your  vows,  whom  yoa 
now  fo  furioufly  profcribe.  The  whole  nation 
will  blefs  thofe  who  defended  him  from  your 
blind  phrenzy*  That  benediction  will  reach  me 
and  my  remoteft  pofterity.  The  precious  blood 
that  you  have  (bed,  will  .difturb  your  confeience, 
while  i,  in  the  decline  of  my  life,  (hall  behold 
futurity  with  a  tranquil  and  contented  eye.  I 
ihall  have  fulfilled  my  feveral  duties  to  my  God, 
Q2y  king,  my. country,  and  my  family. 


•S     C    E    N    E      V. 

Wyndham^  Lady  IVyndham, 

Ivyndham.  Well,  my  dear,  is  not  this  a  fig- 
nal  mark  of  heaven's  favour,  that  we  are  entrust- 
ed with  the  deftiny  of  the  king? 

Lady  Wyndham.  Ah,  my  lord,  if  we  could 
conduct  him  in  triumph  to  London  ! 

V  Wyndham* 


254  CHARLES      II. 

JVyn.iham.  This  wifh,  worthy  of  the  great- 
nefs  of  your  foul,  is  beyond  our  feeble  power* 
Jt  is  fufficient  for  us}*if  we  can  fend  Charles  over 
in  fafety  to  France,  until  the  rage  of  a  frantic 
people  be  appeafed.  This  people  mull  firft  feel 
the  oppreffive  yoke  that  they  haveimpofed  upon 
themfelves.  The  performance  of  no  fteady 
purpofe  can  be  expecled  from  their  principles, 
until  they  have  undergone  this  proof. 

Lady  Wyndbam.  If  it  be  fo,  our  hopes  are 
very  far  removed.  In  the  prefent  univerfal 
anarchy,  pride  makes  the  evils  of  it  to  be  fup- 
ported,  beca'ufe  every  one  hopes  to  partake  in 
the  government. 

Wyndbam,  True  ;  but  we  foon  fee  pride 
bafely  yield  to  intereft.  The  Englifh  complain- 
ed under  their  laft  king,  of  the  opprefiion  of  fhi^- 
money  and  the  ftar-chamber.  Taxes  are  in- 
finitely heavier  at  prefent,  under  the  arbitrary 
adminiltration  of  parliament :  immenfe  fums 
have  been  confumed  for  the  levy  of  troops  whofe 
pay  is  extravagant.  It  will  be  neceiTary  to  keep 
thefe  armies  up  for  a  long  time,  in  order  to  be- 
come formidable  to  honeft  citizens,  as  well  as 
to  foreign  enemies.  It  is  the  nation  that  fup- 
ports  thefe  additional  expenfes,  at  the  fame  time 
that  its  manufactures  lan^uifh,  and  its  commerce 
is  interrupted.  Difcontents  will  breakout  every 
where,  at  once.  Thofe  whom  fortune  has  left 
in  their  original  obfeurity,  inflamed  with  envy, 
on  feeing  people  of  their  own  clafs  raifed  above 
them,  will  rather  wifh  the  fovereign  power  re- 
placed in  the  hands  of  thofe  whofe  rank  and 
birth  more  naturally  aualify  them  for  it.      We 

toll 


d  H  A  RLE5      II.  255 

toll  foon  fee  that  Cromwell  and  the  parliament 
have  overturned  royal  authority,  in  order  firft 
to  divide  it  between  them,  and  afterwards  to 
quarrel  for  it.  Open  violence  ?nd  fecret  perfe- 
cution  will  be  exerted  to  re'prefs  the  murmurs  of 
difcontent  :  then  the  people  at  large  will  be 
fenfible  that  tyranny  never  rofe  to  more  (hock- 
ing excefles  of  oppreffion  and  audacity,  than  when 
they  were  amufed  with  the  vain  hope  of  liberty, 


SCENE      VI. 
Wyndham,     Lady   Maryy  Lady  TVyndham. 

Lady  Mary,  Dear  fon,  I  tremble  with  anxiety 
and  perturbation.  A  croud  of  country  people 
and  Grangers  are  gathered  before  the  houfe.  I 
am  afraid  they  have  discovered  the  king's  retreat. 

Wyndham.  Do  not  be  uneafy,  madam.  You 
know,  in  thefe  troublefome  times,  the  people 
quit  their  work,  and  afl'emble  in  the  high  roads 
to  talk  of  the  news.  The  moft  uncertain 
rumour  is  fufncientto  put  them  in  motion.  Has 
any  one  heard  any  thing  of  their  difcourfe  ? 

Lady  Mary.  Nothing  troublefome  as  yet  ; 
they  content  ihemfelve's  with  gazing  ftupidly  at 
the  walls  ;  but  they  Ihake  their  heads,  with  a 
myfterious  look,  as  if  they  fufpecled  fomething 
extraordinary  to  be  going  on  here. 

VFyndham.      Had  they  the  leaft  fufpicions,  they 

would  have  forced  an  entrance,  before  this.   The 

blind  populace  indulges  every   fort  0/  caprice. 

Y  2  They 


25*  C  H  A  R  L  fe  S      ft. 

They  chofe  to  affemble  here  to-day,  rather  th2t; 
any  where  elfe. 

Lady  Wyndham,  But,  my  dear,  may  not 
fomebody  have  betrayed  us  ? 

Tvpidham.  The  treafon  could  have  come  but 
from  our  own  people,  and  to  them  fufpicion 
would  be  injurious.  They  are  all  as  much  de- 
voted to  their  fovereign,  as  we  are  ourfelves. 

Lady  Alary.  Qft  !  my  fon,  if  we  fhould  be 
io  unfortunate  as  to  render  this  retreat  more 
fatal  to  the  king  than  even  the  dangers  of  his 
flight,  it  would  be  the  hit  wound  that  grief 
would  give  my  old  age. 

fVyndbam.  No,  my  dear  mother,- fpare  your- 
felf  thefe  ground iefs  fears.  A  few  hours  more, 
and  the  king  is  fafe.  At  the  clofe  of  the  evening; 
you  mult  let  out  with  him.  It  is  known  that 
for  fomedays  pait  my  fitter's  health  has  been  out 
of  order,  i  have  reported  to-day  that  fhe  defired 
earneftly  to  fee  you.  Your  vifit  is  natural  enough 
to  avoid  all  fufpicion  ;  and  1  hope  that,  under 
the  Care  of  Providence,  you  will  arrive  fafe  at 
bhoreham. 


SCENE     VII. 

Charles,    Derby,     Wyndham,    Lady    Mary,    Ladys 
Wyndham,    Henry,   Elizabeth. 

Chirks.  My  lord,  I  have  recovered  my 
ftrength.  Thanks  to  your  care,  \  never  tafted  the 
fweets  of  repofe  more  to  my  fatisfa£tion.  On  my 
waging,  1  found  vour  fon  centinel  at  my  door  ; 
F* thank  him  for  his  attention,      {Henry  kijfes  his 

hand.,} 


CHA  R  L  E  3      II.  257 

hand.  We  are  nearly  of  the  fame  age,  I  {hall 
never  forget  my  kind  guard,  as  long  as  I  live  ; 
and  will  recompenfe,  in  your  fon,  my  Lord 
Wyndham,  the  hofpitality  that  you  have  fhewn 
me,  if  I  mould  not  be  fo  happy  as  to  find  you 
alive  at  my  return. 

Wyndham,  My  fon  has  only  performed  his 
duty  to  your  majefty. 

Charles.  A  duty  rendered  to  me  in  my  pre- 
fent  circumftances,  has  all  the  merit  of  an  actu- 
al kindnefs,  and  in  this  light  I  view  it. 

Henry.  Sire,  I  am  happy  to  have  begun,  near 
your  facred  perfon,  the  apprenticeship  of  my  fu- 
ture profefTion  in  life. 

Lady  Wyndham,  (feeing  Pope  approach  with  a 
napkin  upon  his  Jhoulder . )  Our  eagernefs  to  ex- 
prefs  our  fentiments  of  attachment  to  your  ma- 
jefty, makes  us  forget  that  you  have  a  preffing 
call  to  Satisfy.  Would  your  majefty  chufe  that 
we  Should  order  up  what  is  prepared  ? 

Charles.  Your  ladylhip  always  anticipates  my 
wimes. 

Pope.  Every  thing  is  ready,  {He  lays  a  table, 
with  two  covers*  Henry  is  going  to  fet  the  things 
in  order  ) 

Pope,  (taking  hold  of  his  arm.)  I  beg  your  par- 
don, youngmafter,  but  every  one  to  his  fervice. 
I  would  not  yield  you  mine,  to-day,  for  all  your 
fortune. 

Elizabeth^  (running  to  take  a  bottle  of  wine,  arid 
a  tumbler  )  Sire,  my  brother  had  the  honour  to 
be  your  captain  of  the  guard,  give  me  leave  to 
be  your  cup-bearer. 

Y  3.  Charles, 


$$*  CHARLES      II. 

Charles,  (failing, )  You  will  treat  me,  thens 
like  Jupiter  on  Mount  Olympus  ? 

IVyndhanu  All  our  wifhes,  at  prcfent,  would 
be  to  form  a  court  lefs  unworthy  of  your  majef- 
ty. 

Charles.  Fortune,  in  the  height  of  her  favor, 
can  never  afford  me  any  on  which  my  eyes  will 
dwell  with  fo  lively  a  fatisfa&ion,  as  now,  on  this 
company.  Amidft  the  pomp  of  a  throne,  the 
homage  that  I  receive,  is  the  offering  of  ambiti- 
on or  intereft  j  here,  poor  and  forfaken,  I  owe  it 
to  fentiments  of  perfonal  regard.  {He  locks  at 
them  by  turns,  with  his  eyes  lathed  in  tears,  yet  en- 
deavouring  to  conceal  them.)  Come,  my  Lord 
Derby,  let  us  tafte  the  only  peaceful  refreshment 
that  we  have  enjoyed  thuefe  three  days.  {As  they 
>3re  going  to  fit  down,  Thomas  enters  hajlily,  with 
~xildnejs  in  his  looks.) 


SCENE      VII  I. 

Charles,    Derly,     JVyndham,    Lady    Mary,     Lady 
IVyndham,  Henry,  Elizabeth,  Pope,  Thomas, 

"Thomas*  Ware  !  Ware  !  Captain  Luke  is 
cc  [Jjing  ftraight  toward  the  houfe,  with  two  fol- 
diers.  I  have  barely  been  able  to  get  before 
them.     They  are  at  my  heels. 

Lady  Mary  and  Lady  JVyndham.  Oh  i  Ilea* 
ttns ! 

Elizabeth,     We  are  undone.     Mercy  on  us ! 

ihnry.  There  are  but  three  ;  we  can  itand 
«.  ■    :  jainft  therm 

Dr 


C  H?ARLE  S      If,  ^9 

Derby*  (vehemently.)  Lord  Wyndham,  fave 
the  king  ;  firft  of  all,  let  him  retire.  We  will 
receive  "their  attack  here,  in  order  to  favour  his 
retreat. 

JVyndham*  No,  Lord  Derby,  do  not  quit  his 
rnajefty  a  moment.  Henry,  conduct  them  by 
the  fecret  door. 

Henry,  Yes,  Sire^  truft  yourfelf  with  me-; 
while  I  have  a  drop  of  blood  remaining,  they 
lhall  not  take  you  out  of  my  hands. 

Wyndham.  Elizabeth,  do  you  follow  them 
alfo,  with  your  mother, 


S     C     E     N     E      IX. 

Wyndham^  Lady  Maryy  Pope^  Tbsmas* 

Wyndham,  Mother,  I  conjure  you,  beware  of 
betraying  yourfdf,'  by  any  marks  of  trouble  or 
agitation.  Perhaps  chance  aione  brings  them 
here*  Let  us  fit  down  to  table,  to  anticipate 
their  curiofity  as  to  the  meaning:  of  thefe  two  co- 
vers. I  hear  them  in  the  court  yard.  Tho* 
mas,  run  to  meet  them,  and  conduit  them  hi- 
ther, directly,  to  me. 

Thomas*     Enough,  my  lord, 

S  C  £  N  1 


26o  CHARLES      If. 


SCENE       X. 

Wyndharriy  Lady  Mary,  Pope* 

Wyndham*  And,  Pope,  you  will  take  care 
that  nobody  goes  out,  fo  that  we  may  be  able  to 
affembie  all  our  forces,  upon  occafion.  Take 
care  to  have  two  horfes  ready  at  the  little  door 
of  the  park. 

Pope.     I  fly  to  perform  your  orders. 

Wyndham,  No,  ftop  ;  remain  here  a  moment  \ 
X  will  give  you  a  fign  when  it  will  be  time. 


SCENE      XL 

H*yndham>  Lady  Maryy  Popey  Thomas,  Captain  Luke\ 
Ptmbely  TalgoL 

Captain  Luke.  Heaven  enlighten  you,  profane 
ones  !  Night  hath  overtaken  us  on  our  road. 
We  come  to  take  up  our  lodging  here  for  the 
night,  I  and  thefe  two  brave  foldiers,  who  fup- 
port  the  good  old  cauie. 

IVyjndham,  All  tfi€  apartments  of  the  houfe 
are  taken  up  by  my  own  family.  I  haye  not 
room  to  receive  you. 

Luke.  I  tell  you,  neverthelefs,  in  the  parlia- 
ment's name,  that  you  triuft  lodge  us. 

IVyndham.  You  are  men  of  war,  and  harden-* 
ed  to  fatigue.  \i  youl  can  put  up  with  narrow 
quarters,  I  can  lod^e  you. 

Luke, 


C  H  A  &  L  E  S      II.  26k 

Luke.  We  are  men  of  war,  and  our  fwords 
will  open  us  a  fuitable  place.  For  whom  is  this 
Sable  prepared  I 

Lady  Mary.  For  my  fon  and  me.  We  were 
abfent  at  dinner  time. 

Luke.  And  fo  were  we,  i'faith  ;  juft  the  fame 
luck. ;  fo  bring,  us  three  covers  more  :  we  will 
dine  together. 

Wyndham.  Take  this  table  to  yourfelves  ; 
for  fear  of  incommoding  you,  we  will  go  and  eat 
fomewhere  elfe= 

Luke.  With  all  my  heart  :  we  are  the  maf- 
ters  here  :  we  do  not  ftand  upon  ceremony  with 
Grangers.  (To  Thomas.)  One  cover  more,  and 
then  bring  up  the  dinner. 

Lady  Mary^  (to  Thomas,  zvho  fsems  at  a  iofs.) 
Do  as  you  are  ordered. 

Wyndham,  (to  Pope.)  Stay  and  wait  upon 
them  j  then  come  to  me.  (He  goes  out  with 
Lai) 'Mary.) 


SCENE      Xil. 

Luke ,  Pembel,  TafgoIy  Pope* 

Luke.     Come,  children  of  grace,   let    us  fit : 

down  to  table. 

Pc?;ibei.  Let  us  do  honour  to  the  good  old' 
caufe.      (Thomas  brings  a  third  cover.) 

TalgoJ)  (taking  it.)  Give  me  this  :  I  will  be  • 
of  the  party.  ( thfy  fit  down  to  table,  arid  begin  tQ> 
e&  v:yih  extraordinary  voraeioujhefs.) 

Luke, 


162  CHARLES      II. 

Luke,  (/peaking  to  Pope,  wit}?  his  mouth  full.) 
Well,  my  Jad,  what  news  ? 

Pope.  You  ought  to  know  the  knews  better 
than  I.  There  are  fo  many  reports,  who  the 
deuce  can  come  at  the  truth  ?  Is  it  fact,  that  the 
king  is  taken  ?  (looking  at  him  earnefllfi) 

Luke.  He  is  not,  fince  I  have  not  been  able 
to  take  him.  For  three  days  paft,  I  have  beat 
about  all  the  country.  He  would  not  have  ef- 
caped  me.  He  muft  have  been  left  dead  upon 
the  field  of  battle. 

Pope,     How  fay  you  ? 

Luke.  How  fay  I  ?  Some  wine  here.  (7V 
Thomas,  handing  him  an  empty  dijh.)  Go  and 
bring  us  fcmething  elfe. 

Pope 'j  (ufule  as  he  brings  fo?ne  bottles.)  Heaven 
be  praifed  !  they  do  not  know  that  he  is  here. 

PembeL     This  news  confounds  you,  rogue. 

Luke.  Go,  ring  his  knell  :  but  I  advifeyou 
to  do  it  fo  gently,  that  the  parliament  may  not 
hear  it,  or  dk  I  wilt  ring  your's. 

PembeL  What  fhould  comfort  you  is,  that 
your  king  is  not  alone  in  the  other  world.  He 
will  find  the  half  of  his  army  there.  We  have 
difpatched  his  moft  faithful  fervants  to  wait  upon 
him. 

Luke.  Blockheads  !  fome  of  them  took  it  in- 
to their  heads,  to  afk  me  quarter  :  but,  with  my 
fword,  I  cut  the  word  in  two  in  their  throats. 

Thomas,  [bringing  another  difl).)  Here  is  all 
that  is  ready  in  the  houfe. 

Luke,  It  will  do  :  only  bring  us  wine.  D'ye 
hear  ? 

PmbtU 


CHARLES     IL  tM 


%> 


Pembel,  [to  Pcpe.)  What  are  you  about  there, 
Shaking  your  head  •  It  feecbs  as  if  you  did  not 
wifh  us  well. 

Luke.  Lay  us  fix  bottles  here  upon  the  tar 
ble,  and  go  about  your  bufmefs,  until  we  caH 
you.     (7 he  wine  is  brought  up.) 

Pope,\afide  at  he goes^out.)  Thefe  fellows  do 
honour  to  the  parliament. 


SCENE       XIII. 

■Luke^  Pembel^  TalgoL 

Pembel,  {toTalgol.)  What  fay 'ft  thou,  com- 
rade ?  How  doft  thou  find  thyfelf  now  thou  art 
illuminated? 

Luke*  See  if  any  thing  be  wanting  to  the 
children  of  the  Lord.  All  that  is  found  in  the 
land,  belongeth,  of  right,  to  us. 

TalgoL  I  did  not  think  that  the  elect  had 
been  permitted  to  eat  meat  in  the  dwellings  of 
the  profane. 

Luke.  That  is  becaufe  you  do  not  yet  under- 
hand our  principles.  They  command  us  to  tal^e 
pofTeflion.  of  every  good  thing  pofiible,  at  tne 
expenfe  of  the  children  of  darkriefs.  Now,  cer- 
tainly, nothing  can  better  fulfil  this  obje£t,  than 
to  intercept  their  meat,  as  it  were,  before  it 
reaches  their  mouths,   and  to  eat  in  their  ftead. 

Ta'gol.     Very  well  explained. 

Luke.  When  will  you  know  the  infinite  ad- 
vantages which  the  eteift  enjoy*?  Whatever  en- 
gagements  we    enter    into    with  the  ungodly, 

though 


M*  C  H  ARLES      IL 

•  though  even  confirmed  with  an  cath,  are,  2nd 
of  right  ought  to  be,  null,  the  moment  they  turn 
to  our  prejudice.  In  conformity  to  this  princi- 
ple, you  fee  what  cur  conduct  was  before  Pen- 
dennis-caftie.  Did  we  not  receive  the  exprefs 
order  of  the  Lord,  to  Hay  the  befieged  with  the 
e/ige  of  the  fw.ord,  notwithstanding  the  articles 
of  capitulation  ? 

PembeL  The  bufinefs  is  only  to  underftand 
well  the  fundamental  points  of  our  doctrine.  We 
,are  the  friends  of  heaven,  and  every  thing  ought 
to  be  in  our  favour  againit  its  enemies.  It  would 
be  infulting  heaven  to  refufe  the  gifts  that  it 
vouchfafes  us  ;  and  all  our  actions  are  lawful 
and  fanclified,  becaufe  we  a£i  only  from  the  fuc- 
cour  of  its  grace.  Was  it  not  heaven  that  in- 
fpired  even  our  women,  with  a  zeal  quite  divine, 
fpr  the  good  old  caufe  ?  .Have  we  not  feen  thofe 
of  the  higheft  diili  nation,  Strip  themfelves,  with 
alacrity,  of  their  moft  precious  jewels  ;  and  the 
very  fervants  bring  us  the  amount  of  their  wa- 
ges, in  order  to  raife  troops  for  the  glory  of  hea- 
ven, and  to  force  all  England  to  walk  in  the  ways 
of  falvation  ?  Do  we  not,  every  day,  hear  the 
Lord  declare  to  us  his  lacred  will  in  his  revela- 
tions \ 

TalgoL  And  yet  the  Scots  faid  the  fame  at 
Dunbar;  and  prophefied,  that  if  they  came  down 
from  their  hills,  they  would  beat  Cromwell. 

PembeL  True  ;  but  Cromwell  had  alfo  his 
revelations,  which  told  him,  that  he  mould  beat 
the  Scots  if  they  came  down  from  the  hills.  The 
prayers  of  the  two  parties,  were,  an  appeal  to  the 
judgment  of  the  Lord,    who  declared   by  the 

victory 


CHARLES      It  265 

victory,  that  party  which  he  judged  mod  wortht 
to  profper,  as  he  hath  lately  teftified  again  by 
new  bleffings. 

Lake,  Come,  enough  of  this  :  let  us  drink, 
my  friends.  (They  drink.) 

Pembel,  Captain,  (hall  we  go  now,  and  fee  if 
they  have  taken  proper  care  of  our  horfes  ? 

Luke,  Yes,  my  lad,  and  then  we  will  go  and 
examine  every  corner  of  this  houfe,  to  fee  whe- 
ther it  contains  any  thing  that  may  fuit  the  fa- 
vourites of  tliQ  Lord. 


ACT        IV. 

SCENE      L 

Pope  and  Thomas  (entering  together,  and  clearing  the 
table  in  a  hurry.) 

Thomas,  It  feems  as  if  thefe  knaves  came  on 
purpofe  to  eat  up  the  king's  dinner. 

Pope,  Do  not  be  uneafy  ;  the  king  has  had 
his  part.     I  referved  the  beft  for  him. 

Thomas.  Yes,  but  while  they  were  here  feaft- 
ing  at  their  eafe,  he  was  obliged  to  fnatch  a  haf- 
ty  repaft  in  the  midft  of  terror  and  apprehen- 
fion. 

Pope,     I  that  exulted  fo  much  in  the  thought 

of  waiting  upon  his  majefty,  to  fee  myfelf,  on  the 

Z  contrary^ 


-66  CHARLES      II. 

contrary,  obliged  to  wait  upon  his  greater!  ene- 
mies ! 

Thomas.  I  was  in  the  mind,  twenty  times,  to 
knock  my  bottle  at  their  heads,  when  they  afked 
for  drink. 

Pope.    And  I  followed  them,  while  they  rum- 
maged the  houfe  all  over.     1  arTure  you,  if  they 
had  come  to  the  private  chamber,  where  the  king" 
was,  I  had   my  piftols  ready,  and  ihould   have 
blown  their  brains  out. 

Thomas.  It  is  happy  for  us,  that  they  are  fo 
certain  of  his  death  :  but  with  what  an  exulting 
tone  did  they  fpeak  of  it !  I  never  faw  infolencc 
equal  to  theirs. 

Pope.  And  the  captain  too  had  a  better  ftock 
of  it  than  the  others. 

Thomas.  That  is  becaufe  he  remembers  his 
former  honourable  ftation.  Would  you  believe 
that  I  have  feen  him  a  butcher's  boy  in  Briftol  ? 

Pope.  Then  I  do  not  wonder  that  he  carries 
fuch  a  cutting  flafhing  look  with  him. 

Thomas.  And  his  friend  there,  Mr.  Pembel, 
the  taylor's  apprentice,  who  was  firft  the  fpiritu- 
al  guide  of  his  wandering  neighbours,  and  then 
one  of  Cromwell's  preaching  foldiers.  I  would 
lay  a  wager  that  he  has  perverted  more  by  his 
curfed  tongue,  than  ever  he  has  killed  with  his 
fword. 

Pope,     Do  you  know  the  third  ? 

Thom&s.  No  ;  but,  by  his  fmoke- dried  ap- 
pearance, I  mould  take  him  to  be  one  of  thofe 
miferable  kettle-menders,  that  travel  the  coun- 
try under  the  name  of  tinkers.  The  party  muft 
have  picked  him  up  on  the  high  roads. 

Pope, 


CHARLES      If.  267 

Pope.     Yes,  they  (hot  him  flying,  that's  plain  ; 
and  a  noble  acquiiition  he  is  to  them,  no  doubt. 


SCENE      IF. 

Lady  Mary ',  Wyndham,  Pope,  Iboinas. 

Wyndham.  Well,  Pope,  where  are  the  foldi- 
ers  ? 

Pope.  I  believe,  my  lord,  they  are  all  faft  a- 
ileep  by  this  time.  I  carried  four  bottles  of  wine 
into  their  chamber,  which  they  emptied  as  they 
were  going  to  bed.  I'll  warrant,  my  lady  will  be 
at  ohoreham,  before  they  awake. 

Wyndham.  We  muft  take  the  advantage,  then, 
of  this  precious  moment.  Let  every  thing  be 
prepared,  in  the  greateft  filence,  for  my  mother's 
departure. 

Lady  Mary,  Thomas,  go,  and  give  a  look  to 
my  equipage,  and  haften  the  getting  of  them  rea- 
dy. Henry  is  now  making  the  king  put  on  the 
difguife  neceffary  for  his  attending  me.  When 
all  things  are  prepared,  you  will  come  and  let  us 
know. 

Thomas.     Madam,  I  obey. 


SCENE      III. 

Lady  Mary,  Wyndham,  Pope. 

Pope.     My  lord,  fhall  I  accompany  the  king? 
Z  2  Wyndbam, 


269  CHARLES      II. 

IVyndham.  No ;  I  will  have  my  fun  to  be 
one  of  the  party,  and  the  fewer  they  are,  the  lefs 
fufpicions  they  will  create. 

Pope,  But  if,  by  any  untoward  accident, 
there  mould  be  a  neceflity  for  defending  him, 
can  you  arm  too  many  for  his  fafeguard  ?  1  think 
now,  I  might  go  a  little  way  before,  on  the  road, 
to  reconnoitre,  without  feeming  to  belong  to  my 
lady's  carriage. 

Wyndha?n.  That  charge  I  will  give  to  Tho- 
mas. 

Pope,  (forrowfully.)  To  Thomas,  my  lord  ? 
Do  you  doubt  my  courage  or  fidelity  ? 

IVyndham.  No,  Pope,  I  believe  them  both  to- 
be  proof;  but  I  have  occafion  for  your  prudent 
management  here,  both  to  deceive  the  foJdiers 
who  are  in  the  houfe,  and  the  country  people  in 
the  village,  in  cafe  of  any  unforefeen  accident. 

Lady  Mary.  Be  aflured,  if  any  important  bu- 
finefs  required  dexterity  or  addrefs,  you  fhould 
be  the  firit  perfon  chofen  to  conduct  it.  I  give 
you  my  word  you  mould. 

Pt>pe,  This  aiTurance  comforts  me  a  little  ; 
yet  L  muft  fay,  I  would  rather  attend  the  king, 
and  fave  his  life,  or  die  with  him. 

IVyndham.  It  is  fufficient  ;  I  know  your  prin- 
ciples ;  but  time  preffes.  Go  and  fee  if  his  ma- 
jelly  be  ready,  and  tell  my  fon  he  may  bring  him 
here  with  fafety. 

Popey  (going  out.)     Yes,  my  lord. 


SCENE 


CHARLES      II.  269 

SCENE     IV. 

Lady  Mary^  Wyndham. 

Lady  Mary.  I  am  charmed  with  Henry's  be- 
haviour to  the  king.  His  refpect  is  fervent, 
without  having  any  thing  of  fervility.  His  words 
are  tempered  with  arTedtion,  deference,  and  ge- 
nerofity.  He  comforts  the  prince  ;  he  animates 
him  ;  he  fwears  to  ferve  him  at  the  expenfe  of 
his  life.  We  may  difcover,  already,  in  his  youth, 
the  good  fenfe  and  firmnefs  of  more  advanced 
experience. 

..  IVyndbam.  My  fon  will  be  indebted  to  you 
for  his  virtues.  By  prelenting  us,  conftantiy, 
with  the  example  of  my  father's  great  qualities, 
you  imprefs  your  children  with  the  defire  of  e- 
mulating  them. 

Lady  Mary.  Thefe  are  tempeftuous  times, 
and  will  afford  frequent  opportunities  of  putting 
them  in  practice,  i  would  fiin  believe,  that  in  a 
feaion  of  trial,  your  fon  will  prove  himfelf  not 
unworthy  of  his  name. 

Wyndham.  O,  Madam  !  how  proud  you 
make  me  by  that  hope  !  That  I  owe  you  my  life, 
is  nothing  ;  1  owe  to.  you  the  honour  of  all  thofe 
in  whom  1  live  and  exilt. 

Z3  SCENE 


270  CHARLES      II. 

S    C    E    N    E    V. 
Charles,  Derby,   Lady  Mary,  Wyndham,    Henry* 

Charles.  Lord  Wyndham,  do  you  know  thefe 
clothes  ?  (He  draws  afide  the  cloak  in  which  he 
is  wrapped  up,  an*  flaws  thefuit  of  livery  under  it,) 

Wyndham.  Oh  !  how  afflicting  to  fee  my 
prince  reduced  to  this  dreadful  neceffity  ! 

Lady  Mary,  {looking  down.)  I  dare  notdirecl: 
my  looks  to  your  majefty,  left  I  mould  give  you 
offence. 

Charles,  {with  dignity.)  No,  Madam,  be 
under  no  uneafinefs,  you  will  not  fee  me  blulh  : 
this  is  not  the  firft  time  that  Chance  has  con- 
demned me  to  ftrange  metamorphofes.  Forced 
as  I  was  a  few  days  ago  to  ply  the  axe  as  a  wood- 
cutter in  the  foreit,  why  fhould  I  be  aftonifhed 
it  this  new  difguife  ?  Jt  is  but  another  inftance 
of  the  inconftancy  of  Fortune.  The  more  (he 
loads  me  with  infers,  the  more  pride  1  take  in 
defpiiing  them.  I  wifh  even  to  rife  above  her, 
above  myfelf,  from  the  low  eftate  to  which  flic 
reduces  me.  A  king,  in  this  drefs,  receives  an 
important  leffon  from  Providence  to  tranfmit  to 
other  fovereigns. 

Derby,  (returning  afide,  and  lifting  up  his  eyes  io 
heaven.)  O,  Mr  ! 

Charles.  Lord  Derby,  in  thefe  garments  }0U 
fee  nothing  but  what  is  abjecT: ;  I  can  look  upon 
if  as  the  apparel  of  triumph.  The  diadem  upon 
my  forehead  could  not,  perhaps,  imprefs  my 
enemies  with   refpec~r,  whereas,  in  the  livery  of 

fervitude. 


CHARLES      II.  2.71 

fervitude,  it  is  my  glory  that  I  reign  in  the  faith- 
ful hearts  of  my  fubjecls.  Derby  and  the  reji 
throiv  themfehes  at  the  king's  feet.) 

IVyndham,  You  fee  us  ready  to  facrifice  our- 
felves  for  your  majeity. 

Charles^  [with  tranfport.)  This  is  homage 
that  raifes  me  far  higher  than  the  thrones  of  the 
earth  :  but  rile,  my  friends  ;  your  place  is  not 
at  my  feet,  but  by  my  fide.  My  lord,  Ihave 
kQa  virtues  in  your  houfe  which  do  not  always 
accompany  a  crown,  and  which  eclipfe  its  fplen- 
dor.  If  my  love  for  my  people  and  the  laws  of 
honour  did  not  make  it  my  duty  to  fupport  my 
crown,  this  peaceful  retreat,  and  the  enjoyment 
of  your  friendship,  would  be  the  utmoft  bound 
of  my  ambition. 

Lady' Mary.  For  pity's  fake,  Sire,  do  not 
exprefs  fuch  fentiments  ;  they  will  make  our 
forrows  too  bitter. 

Wyndham.  Alas  !  fuch  is  our  fituation  :  though 
the  fight  of  your  majeity  fills  me  with  the  live- 
lier!: joy,  yet  I  am  reduced  to  the  neceffity  of 
wifhing  you  foon  to  be  at  a  diftance  from  my 
view. 

Charles.  My  prefence,  my  lord,  has  occafion- 
ed  difordcr  and  confufion  in  your  houfe  ;  but  I 
fwear  that  I  will  never  forget  the  danger  to 
which  1  expofe  you,,  nor  the  generous  rinnnefs 
with  which  you  brave  it. 

IVyndham.  Ah,  Sir  !  animated  as  we  are  with 
a  deep  concern  for  the  interefts  of  our  country, 
whatever  perlbnally  regards  us  alone  is  but  a  very 
feeble  confideration.    It  is  neither  my  own  fafety 

nor 


272  CHARLES      II. 

nor  that  of  my  family  that  difturbs  me  ;  yours 
occupies  my  whole  thoughts.  Fortune  has  put 
it  out  of  our  power  to  be  ufeful  to  our  country  : 
but  your  majefty  may  ftill  make  her  happy. 

Charles.  While  I  labour  to  obtain  that  great 
object,  I  fhall  ever  recollect  that  you  have  fur- 
niihed  me  with  the  means.  If  1  arriv  at  the 
accomplifhment  of  it,  you  mail  not  a  Ik  the  com- 
monwealth for  your  reward  ;  I  will  charge  my- 
felf  with  acquitting  the  national  gratitude. 

Wvyulham.  Let  me  fee  my  country  happy,  and 
I  (hall  be  fufficiently  rewarded  :  but,  alas !  my 
flrength,  exhaufted  by  long  fervices,  hardly  al- 
lows me  that  hope~  I  leave  it,  however,  as  a  be- 
queft  to  my  fon,  together  with  the  inheritance  of 
my  principles.  Permit  me,  Sire,  to  recommend 
this  my  only  remaining  fon,  to  your  notice.  I 
afk  nothing  tor  him,  bur  that  your  majefty  would 
employ  him  -ufefully  in  the  fervice  of  his  coun- 
try. I  dare  anfwer  for  him,  that  he  will  neither 
difgrace  your  choice,  nor  impair  the  honour  of 
his  anceftors. 

Chirks.  My  lord,  I  will  give  you  my  word, 
as  a  pledge  of  my  regard  for  him  ;  and  if  ever  I 
mould  be  unfortunate  enough  to  forget  it,  [he 
takes  Henry  by  the  hand")  brave  fon  of  my  bene- 
factor, come  boldly  before  my  throne,  and  fay, 
"  I  am  Wyndham  ;"  my  heart  will  quickly  tell 
me  what  my  duty  is. 


SCENE 


CHARLES      II.  273 


SCENE      VL 

Charles,  Derby,  Lady  Mary,  TVyndham^  Elizabeth^ 
Henry,  Pope,  Thomas. 

Pope  and  Thomas^  (as  they  enter.)  My  lord,  all 
is  ready  for  his  majefty's  departure. 

Derby.     There  is  not  a  moment  to  be  loft. 
Lady  Maryy  [lifting  up  her  hands  toward  heaven. ) 

0  God,  the  defender  of  kings,  deign  to  take  us 
under  thy  protection,  (fVyndham  appears  buried 
in  thought.) 

Charles,  (approaching  him,)  Lord  Wyndhar% 
you  have  not  a  word  for  me. 

Wyndham.  Sire,  I  would  I  could  conceal 
from  you,  the  perturbation  which  my  heart  feels 
at  this  moment. 

Charles.  And  I  would  I  could  exprefs  to  you 
the  workings  of  mine.  I  came  into  your  houfe 
a  fugitive ;  you  have  treated  me  as  a  king  ;  now 

1  depart  your  friend.  (Wyndham  going  to  throw 
himfelf  at  his  feet,  is  rejirainedby  Charles,  who  opens 
his  ar ms  to  him.)  What  are  you  doing?  I  will 
receive  no  homage  from  a  friend.  Let  him  em- 
brace  me.  (He  embraces  him  with  trarfport.)  Fate, 
my  lord,  will  not  be  fo  cruel  as  to  deprive  me  of 
the  happinefs  of  feeing  you  again.  (lPyndhamy 
unable  to  anj'JJer  him,  takes  his  hand,  kiffes  it,  and 
bathes  it  v.) lib  his  tears.  Charles  looks  at  him  af- 
fe&ismtety.  Pope,  in  the  meantime,  approaches,  t$ 
kifs  the  fklri  of  the  king's  cloak,  who,  perceiving  him% 
gives  him  hh  hand  to  kifs,  and  fays,)  I  ow§  to  you 

the 


274  -CHARLES      IT. 

the  prefervation  of  my  life.  Honour  alone  can 
repay  fuch  fervices,  and  I  offer  you  no  other  re- 
ward :  but  watch  carefully  over  the  fafety  of 
your  excellent  matters  ;  that  will  be  a  kindnefs 
to  me,  and  fuch  a  one  as  I  (hall  repay,  if  ever  I 
come  again  to  this  country, .  with  a  handfome 
fortune.  {Approaching  Lady  Mary,  and  offering  her 
his  band.)  Madam,  I  am  your  lady  (hip's  moft 
obedient.      ( Henry  embraces  his  father.) 

Wyndham,  (with fervor.)  My  fon,  I  confide 
to  you  the  facred  perfon  of  your  king.  You  are 
anfwerable  to  me  for  his  fafety.  Dare,  if  it  be 
neceiTary,  to  die  in  his  defence. 

Henry,  (with  vivacity)  I  pledge  my  life  to  that 
end,  in  the  prefence  of  heaven  and  you. 


SCENE      VII. 

Lady   Mary,    Lady    Wyndham,     Charles,    Derby* 
PyrJham,  Elizabeth,  Henry,  Pope,  Thomas. 

Lady  Wyndham,  (entering  in  a  fright,  and  foU 
lowed  by  Elizabeth.)  Ah,  flop,  Sire!  Mother, 
you  conduct  his  rnajefty  to  dehruclion. 

Lady  Mary.  My  dear  child,  what  is  the  caufe 
of  this  confternaticn  ? 

Lads  Wyndham.     All  is  loft  ! 

Charles.  How  !  I  befeech  your  ladyfhip  to  ex- 
plain. 

Lady  Wyndham,  How  fliall  I  find  ftrength  to 
tell  you  \ 

Wyndham. 


CHARLES      IL  27$ 

Wyndham.  Endeavour  to  collect  yourfelf,  my 
*dear.  For  heaven's  fake  relieve  us  from  the 
anxiety  that  you  have  occafioned  us. 

Lady  Wyndham.  {out  of  breath.)  The  fmith — 
who  (hod  the  king's  horfe— ftole  in  hither  pri- 
vately—He went  up  to  the  room  where  the  fol- 

diers'  lay and   awaked   them — he   told   them 

that  the  king  was  in  the  houfe— I  faw  him  go 
out,  in  order  to  raife  the  country  people — while 
the  foldiers  are  drefling  themfelves,  to  come  here 
and  feize  his  majefty. 

Charles,  {with fir  mnefi.)  I  mull  yield  to  fate  ; 
but  not  without  lofing  every  drop  of  my  blood 
.firft. 

Dtrby.  Ah  !  if  I  can  fave  your  life  at  the 
expenfe  of  mine  !  What  have  we  to  fear3  while 
our  i  words  are  (till  left  us  ? 

Wyndham.  No,  brave  veteran,  refinance 
would  be  ineffectual.  The  whole  village  is, 
perhaps,  already  up  in  arms.  Let  not  your  ma- 
jefty  yield  to  the  dictates  of  a  blind  defpair.  I 
befeech  you,  my  dear  Lord  Derby,  conduct  the 
king  again  into  his  fecret  apartment,  and  do  not 
leave  his  perfon  a  moment,  if  we  mutT  come 
to  open  force,  I  will  go  and  join  you  with  my 
fon,  and  we  will  all  fight  together  till  our  hft 
breath.  (He  leads  them  toward  a  private  fiaircafe.) 
Thomas,  run  and  pull  up  the  draw-bridge,  to 
hinder  the  populace  from  entering.  {Thomas 
goes  out.)  And  you,  my  fon,  I  fear  the  heat  and 
vivacity  of  your  youth ;  retire  with  Pope,  into 
the  next  room.  I  forbid  you  to  come  out,  with- 
out my  orders. 

Henry,  {with  warmth.)     What,  Father 

fflyndham* 


27S  CHARLES      II. 

Wyndham.  I  hear  the  foldiers  coming.  [Hen- 
ry fprings  forward  to  meet  them.  Wyndbam  holds 
him  back)  calls  a  fever  e  look  at  him,  and  fays,  with 
an  authoritative  voice,)  Obey,  [Henry  goes,  with 
Pope>  into  the  next  chamber. ) 

JVyndham,  [to  Lady  Mary.)  G,  Mother,  it 
is  now  that  I  have  occafion  to  be  fupported  by 
your  courage  !  [He  turns  toward  Lady  Wyndham 
and  Elizabeth.)  My  love,  you  will  pardon  me, 
and  you,  my  dear  child,  if  I  expofe  you  to  the 
view  of  an  infolent  foldiery  :  but,  in  fuch  a 
danger,  I  cannot  think  of  fuffering  you  out  of 
my  fight. 


SCENE      VIII. 

Lady  Mary,  Lady  Wyndham,  Elizabeth,  Wyndham^ 
Luke,  Pembel,  Talgol. 

[The  foldiers  rujh  into  the  room.) 

Luke,  (with  a  voice  like  thunder.)  Where  are 
they  ?   Where  are  they  ? 

Wyndham,  [calmly.)     Whom  do  you  feek  ? 

Luke.  Stuart,  and  the  companion  of  his 
flight. 

^Wyndham.  Stuart  .?  I  know  none  of  that 
name  but  the  king  of  England,  and  it  is  always 
pronounced,  before  me,  with  refpecl. 

Luke.     We  have  no  king.     1  afe  for  Charles 

Stuart. 

Pembel. 


C  H  A  R  L  S  S      XI.  277 

Pembel.  He  is  here,  in  your  houfe  ;  do  not 
think  to  conceal  him,  or  it  will  coft  you  your 
life. 

IVyndham.  I  mould  defpife  my  life,  if  I  thought 
It  were  at  your  mercy. 

Luke.  Fewer  words,  and  anfwer  me.  Where 
are  the  two  men  who  came  here  this  morning  ? 

Pembel.  The  fmith,  who  mod  their  horfes, 
obferved  their  fhoes  to  have  belli  made  in  the 
north.  Other  circumftances  prove  that  one  of 
them  is  king  of  Scotland. 

Lady  Mary.  Have  you  ever  feen  him  ?  Would 
you  know  him  ? 

Luke.  No  ;  but  what  does  that  fignify  ? 
Cromwell  will  foon  know  him. 

IVyndham,  (afide  to  Lady  Mary.)  Do  you  hear 
him,  mother  ?  Oh,  if 

Lady  Mary,  (afide  to  Wyndbam.)  Sen,  I  un- 
derstand your  generous  wifhes. 

Luke,  (interrupting  them.)  Come  ;  an  end  of 
your  difcourfes  :  let  thofe  two  Grangers  be  given 
up  to  us  this  moment.  (He  draws  bis  /word,  and 
holds  it  over  JVyndbatris  head,)  Let  them  be  giv- 
en up  to  us,  or  you  are  a  dead  man. 

Lady  Wynlham,  (throwing  herfelf  between  the 
captain  and  IVyndham.)  What  would  you  do, 
Barbarian  ? 

Lady  Mary.  Stop,  Stop,  I  will  bring  them  to 
you. 

Lute,  (lowering  his  f ward. )  Make  hafte,  my 
lady,  if  you  tremble  for  his  life. 

A  a  SCENE 


27$  CHARLES      II 


SCENE      IX. 

-  TFyndbam>  Lady  IVxndham,  Elizabeth^  Lufo>  Pern- 
be\  TaigoL 

Lady  IVyndbam^  {terrified — afide  to  Elizabeth,) 
What  can  be  my  mother's  defign  ? 

Elizabeth.  Tdare  not  even  conje&ure.  (7 bey 
wtbemfehjes  into  each  ether's  arms.) 

Luke.  My  lord,  are  you  ignorant  of  the  pe- 
nalties denounced  by  parliament,  againfi:  fueh  as 
fhould  prefume  to  fhelter  Charles  Stuart  from 
their  power  ? 

Wyndbam.  Are  you  ignorant  of  the  infamy 
that  redounds  to  fuch  as  violate  the  rights  of 
hofpitality  ? 

Luke.     You  are  a  rebel  to  the  law  of  the  land. 

Wyndbam,  I  know  no  law  that  fuperfedes 
that  of  honour. 

Luke.  How  can  honour  bind  you  to  prare& 
an  out-law,  a  declared  enemy  of  his  country  ? 

JVyndbam.  The  enemy  of  his  country,  in. 
my  estimation,  is  he  who  overturns  the  govern- 
ment, and  takes  from  the  people  their  lawful  fo- 
vereign.  Even  if  the  blindnefs  of  my  under- 
ftanding  had  drawn  me  into  thofe  abominable 
principles,  which  you  profefs,  had  Charles  come 
to  feek  fhelter  in  my  houfe,  from  his  enemies,  I 
mould  have  thought  it  my  duty  to  refpe&  his 
misfortunes.  Judge  if  I  was  capable  of  betray- 
ing him,  while  I  look  upon  him  as  my  fovereign, 
2nd  his   perfon  as  facred.     Violence  may  tear 

him 


CHARLES      II.  279 

him  from  my  arms,  but  even  the  fight  of  a  fcaf- 
fold,  prepared  for  my  execution,  couid  not  make 
me  betray  him  bafely. 

Luke.  v  You  acknowledge,-  then,  that  Charles 
Stuart  is  one  of  the  two  men  who  are  going  to 
be  brought  to  us  ? 

Windham,  When  they  are  in  your  prefence., 
you  will  know  it  from  their  own  mouths,  if  they 
chufe  to  tell  you. 

Luke.  They  muft  confefs,"  or  this  fteel  ilia II 
do  me  right,  if  they  refafe. 

Wyndham,  Do  you  dare  to  fay  [o  ?  Imagine 
not  that  I  will  fuffer  you  to  exercife  your  rage 
•with  impunity,  rrhis  caftle,  for  three  hundred 
years,  has  been  the  refidence  of  honour.  You 
fhall  not  defile  it  by  an  execrable  murder.  Dread 
the  confequence  of  driving  me  to  defpair,  You 
fee  a  foldier  who  is  lets  weakened  by  age  than  by 
the  fatigue  of  war,  and  who,  to  punifh  you5 
could  find  the  vigour  of  his  youth  again,  upon 
occafion. 


SCENE       X. 

Lady  Mary^  Wyndham-y  Lady  Wyndham^   Elizabeth^ 
Luke^  Petnpe\  TalgoL 

Luke^  (to  Lady  Mary^  who  enters.)  Where  are 
my  prifoners  \ 

Lady  Mary,     They  follow.     Before  I  deliver 

them  into  your  hands,  I  think  it  neceffary  to  de- 

clarc  to  you  how  much  I  deteft  the  action  which 

you  force  me  to  commit  :  I  am  fenlib'e  that  it  is 

A  a  2  an 


z%y  CHARLES      II. 

an  outrage  to  humanity  ;  but  my  firft  duty  is  t> 
preferve  the  life  which  is  mofr.  valuable.  If  I 
had  been  free  to  ranfom  it  with  mine,  1  fhould 
not  have  hefitated  upon  the  choice  of  the  vi£tiin. 
The  eye  of  heaven  fees  my  in  molt  heart,  and 
will  call  you  to  an  account  for  the  blood  which 
I  expoie  to  your  fury.  [Holding  her  bands  to 
them  fuppliantly.)  But  if  you  are  ftill  fenfible  to 
the  voice  of  nature,  reject  not  my  earneit  entrea- 
ties in  behalf  of  thele  unfortunate  men.  I  have 
promifed  that  you  will  refpec~r  their  diftrefs. 

Luke.     We  are  too  long  liftehing  to  empty  la- 
mentations.    Where  are  they  ? 


SCENE       XL 

Lany  Mary,  JVyndham,  Lady  IVyndham,  Elizabeth, 
Lute*  Tako!i  Psmbely  Henry,  Pope. 

Henry,  (advancing  boldly  ^wrapped '..up,  as  is  Pope, 
in  a  large  cloak)     1  will  not  wait  your  coming  to 

feck  .     ,  1T 

Lady  IVyndbatn,  (hiauvg  Henry  3  voice.)  Hea- 
ven !  what  do  I  hear  ?  My  fon  ?  [She  falls  in  a 
fivoon  into  Elizabeth's  ar/m,    who   takes   her  to  a 

"      Wyndham,    {eagerly  endeavouring  to  ojjijt  her— 
uzabeth.)     Take  care  not  to  betray  us. 
•/,  andTalgol,  look  at  Henry  for  awhile, 
a  mixture  offurprife  and  irrejolution.) 
\  going  up  to  him. )     Who  are  you  ? 

Idly.)     Have  you  the  infolence  to 

think  that  f  would  deign  to  anfwer  you  ? 

Luke* 


C  H  AR.LES      II.  281 

Luke,  (peremptorily.)    I  afk  you,  who  are  you  ? 

Henry.  By  what  right  do  you  dare  to  quefti- 
on  me  ? 

Luke.  In  the  name  of  the  parliament,  whofs 
orders  I  bear. 

Henry.  What  !  (hall  I  acknowledge  a  parlia- 
ment that  is  governed  by  a  rebel  ? 

Luke,  General  Cromwell  will  find  means  to 
oblige  you.  He  is  only  ten  miles  off.  You 
muff  fpeak  in  his  prefence. 

Henry.  Then  .you  will  have  but  one  word 
from  my  lips.     Lead  me  to  him. 

Pembel.  Let  us  make  hafte,  before  the  coun- 
try people  anemble,  and  come,  perhaps,  to  dif- 
pute  our  prize  with  us. 

Luke,  Come  along.  ( He  makes  a  motion,  as 
if  to  lay  hold  on  Henry. ) 

Henry y  (with  an  air  cf  authority,  makes  Jigns  to 
him  to  dejifl.y  One  moment.  [To  Wyndbam.) 
My  lord,  I  hoped  to  have  been,  one  day,  ufeful 
to  my  country,  If  my  death  can  fave  to  her  the 
blood  of  one  more  valuable,  I  devote  myfelf, 
without  reluctance,  nay,  with  joy  :  mean  time,  let 
me  pay  to  your  lordhhip,  as  well  as*  to  this  lady, 
the  tribute  of  my  gratitude,  for  your  fentiments 
in  my  behalf,  and  particularly  for  the  high  opi- 
nion that  you  have  expreiled  for  my  courage. 
{IVyndham  and  Lady  Mary  endeavour  tojiife  their 
grief.,  Henry  looks  round  for  his  mother,  and  fees 
her  in  a  Jwoon.     He  takes  her  handy  '\ffei>it*) 

To  what  a  ntuation  does  the  excelTive  tenden  (% 
of  her  feelings  reduce  her  !  Mutt  I  ?  foi  ed  to 
..bandon  her,  while  ftie  is  thus  r  My  Lord— 
rdadam— and  you,  EttfcaDetn;    I   .  -     in 

A  a  X  tl  e 


282  CHARLto      IT. 

the  name  of  al!  that  is  facred,  apply  your  tender- 
eft  cares  to  recover  and  confole  her.  Speak  to 
her  often  of  me  :  defcribe  to  her  the  violence- 
that  I  do  myfelf,  in  parting  from  her  at  this  mo- 
ment. I  could  not  anfwer  for  my  refolution,  if 
I  only  faw  her  tears,  or  heard  her  fighs  for  a  mo- 
ment. (He  rifeS)  preffes  tenderly  the  hand  of  Eliza- 
beth, utters  a  heavy  figh,  while  he  cafls  his  eyes,  for 
the  la  ft  time,  on  his  mother-,  theni  all  at  once,  drawing 
his  hat  down  ever  his  eyes,  and  muffling  up  his  face 
in  his  cloak,  for  fear  of  being  known  by  the  country 
feople,  in  paffmg  through  the  village,  he  walks  off  ve- 
ry fall,  making  figyis  to  the  foldiers  to  follow  him.) 

Luke,  {accompanying  him  with  his  f word  drawn.) 
Come  along,  my  lads. 

Pembel,  (to  Pope,  who  afo  muffles  himfelf  up  in 
his  cloak.)  March.  Our  general  will  foon  know 
who  you  are. 

Pope.  I  am  not  afraid  to  tell  it  aloud  to  your* 
/elves  :  a  faithful  fervant  of  the  king,  and  one 
V*  ho  would  glory  to  die  for  him. 


S     C    E    N    ,E      XII. 
Lady  Alary y  TVyndkanty  Lady  Wyndham^  Elizabeth, 

Wyndbam.  At  length,  I  have  full  liberty  to 
indulge  my  grief.     O,  mother,  what  a  facririce  ! 

Lady  Mary.  To  me  it  is  the  molt  grievous, 
whom  Fortune  obliged  to  prepare  and  conduct 
the  victims. 

l',)ndham,  {bending  over  Lady  Mary .)  Look 
up,  my  de'arefl  life.   Ala*,  what  do  1  fay  !  Should 

I 


CHARLES      IL  283. 

I  wifh  to  fee  you  out  of  this  peaceful  fwoon  ? 
Ah  !  that  it  would  change  to  a  long  and  deep 
deep  !  Wounded  as  my  heart  is  with  my  own 
griefs,  how  mall  I  he  able  to  bear  your  diffracti- 
on ? 

Lady  JVyndham^  (recovering  berfelfby  degrees—** 
with  a  feeble  voice.)     My  fon  1 

Jf/yndharn*  In  vain  you  call  the  beloved  youth. 
Hard  fate  !  that  we  fhould  be  condemned  to  lofe 
him,  at"  the  very  moment  when  he  mews  himfdf 
moft  worthy  of  our  love, 

Lady  IVyndham^  (colleiiing  her  fpirits — with  more 
firength  of  voice,)  My  fon  !  (looking  all  round.) 
Where  is  he?  (rijlng  hajlily.)  What  have  you 
made  of  my  fon  ?  (JVyndham  is  quite  dejecled^  and 
not  able  fb  anfiver,) 

Lady  Mary\  (making  a  violent  effort  to  con/train 
her  feelings.)  A  hero,  the  honour  of  our  name  ; 
the  faviour  of  our  king;  the  pledge  of  his  coun- 
try's fafety. 

Lady  IVyndham,  {in  a  frantic  voice, )  Barbari- 
ans !  have  you  facrificed  him,  then  ? 

IVyndham.  Would  you  fee  me  difhonoured 
by  a  bafe  ac~fc  of  treafon,  and  give  up  the  facred 
head  of  majelty  to  an  executioner?  Were  you 
reduced  to  chufe  between  a  hufband-  who  fhould 
owe  his  life  to  his  infamy,  and  a  fon  who  fhould 
die  for  glory,  fpeak.  what  would  be  your  choice? 

Lady  JVyndham,  How  can  I  anfwer  you  t 
But,  my  fon  1 

Wyndham.  He  was  mine  a  Ifo.  £  leaped  alone 
from  the  ruins  ox  a  numerous  family,  I  flattered 
rnyfelf  that  he  would  raife  it  to  its  former  luftre. 
Indeed,  from  his  eariieil  youth,  he  afforded  the 

moil 


2&'4  GHARLtS      If. 

mod  aufplcious  hopes  ;  and,  in  one  moment,  he 
has  now  gone  far  beyond  them.  With  fo  many 
claims  to  my  affection,  can  you  think  that  he  is 
indifferent  to  me,  or  that  his  lofs  would  create  in 
me  lels  poignant  grief  than  in  you  ?  Pity  my  for- 
rows,  therefore,  in  your  turn.  You  think  me 
inlenfrble,  becaufe  I  would  comfort  you.  Ah  ! 
why  cannot  I  lay  bare  my  heart  before  you? 
You  w'ould  fee  it  harrowed  up  with  tortures  in- 
exprerTible.  What  fhall  I  fay  to  you  ?  Such  a 
foul  as  your's  is  not  to  be  deluded  by  unreal  con- 
folations  ;  but  fome  fources  of  comfort  are  yet 
open.  See  your  fon,  already  full  of  virtues,  ac- 
quire immortal  glory  in  the  flower  of  his  age, 
by  faving  his  prince  and  his  country.  Let  your 
affection  dwell  a  moment  upon  thefe  noble 
thoughts,  if  we  are  to  lofe  our  fon,  there  is  this 
well-founded  hope  left,  which  Cromwell's  fero- 
cious cruelty  will  not  render  vain,  that  we  mail 
all  be  included  in  the  fame  proscription  with 
him, 

Lady  Wyftdbam,  I  accept,  with  pleafure,  this 
dreadful  hope.  What  mould  I  do  with  life, 
were  I  to  furvive  my  fon  ?  (with  men  vivacity.) 
But  where  >s  he  ?  I  will  fee  him.  Bring  him 
back  to  me,  that  I  may,  at  Ieatt,  receive  his  Jail 
embrace. 

Wyndham,  With  difficulty  he  tore  himfelf 
from  your  arms,  fearing  the  excels  of  your  ten- 
dernefs. 

Lady  Wyndham.  He  knew  it  not,  if  he  only 
faw  me  in  a  ftate  of  ii  y.     That  might 

be  caufed  by  a   woman's  terror  at   the  fight  of 
boifterous  foldiers.  e  been  wit- 


C  HA  RLES      II.  its 

;<jds  to  a  mother's  defpair.  Has  he  fccn  the 
burning  tears  flow  from  my  eyes  ?  Clafped  to  his 
mother's  breaft,  hath  he  felt  the  throbbings  of 
her  heart  f  Mail:  he  die,  without  knowing  how- 
dear  he  is  to  me  ?  No,  cruel  as  ye  are,  fuffer  me 
to  follow  him,  I  will  go  ;  I  will  rufh  into  the 
croud  of  his  guards  and  executioners.  I  will 
embrace  him  a  thoufand  times.  I  will  expire 
on  his  bread,  (She  rujhes  forward,  d,;/lra.??ed-— 
Wyndbam  holdi  hef,  while  fir etching  forth  her  arme0 
and  clafping  her  hands  together,  Jhe  cries  with  an 
impqffiontd  voice,)  My  fon  !  my  fon  !  [At  this  mo- 
ment, Charle:  caters  with  Derby .  He  Jfaps  Jbort  in 
flent  feirprize.  ■Wyndbam  perceiving  hinu  approaches* 
Lady  Wyndbam  endeavours  to  contain  the  iranjp oris 
of  her  grief  in  the  king' s  pre  fence  ;  and,  to  civ  Old  his 
fight,  Jhe  leans  upon  Elizabeth's  bread.) 


S     C    E     N    E      XIIL. 

Charles^    Derby,    Lady   Maryy    Wyndbam^    Laaj 
IVyndham,  Elizabeth, 

Charles.  Lord  Wyndham,  what  has  been  the 
matter?  I  hear  tumultuous  voices  repeat  on  eve- 
ry fide,  with  reiterated  clamour,  "  The  king  is 
taken.''  The  foldiers  are  dragging  off  two  men. 
I  followed  them,  with  my  eyes,  a  long  way  into 
me  country,  and  faw  them  followed  by  a  fhout- 
ing  populace,  and  attended  with  a  thoufand  lights. 
I  come  down,  I  find  you  all  in  the  deepeft  con- 
i3enmion3  1  lee  your  lady  drowned  in  tears,  and 

avoiding 


$&6  c ■  :i  a  i;  l  e  5'    ft; 

avoiding  my  looks.       What  is  this 
dread  to  unravei  u\ 

Wyndham.  Have  you  not  heard  the  cries  of 
this  difconfol-ate  mother  ? 

Charles.     How  \   Is  your  Ton 

Wyndham.  He  had  fvvorn  to  fave  your  life,  at 
the  expenfe  of  his  own.  He  now  fulfils  his 
vow. 

Charles,  And  you  believe  that  I  will  fuffer 
him  to  die,  in  my  itead  ?  No,  no  ;  I  mould  think 
myfelf  unworthy  of  fo  noble  fidelity,  were  I  to 
permit  this  facrifice.  Dry  up  your  tears,  ma- 
dams 1  will  toon  reftore  to  you  a  fon  fo  worthy 
of  your  forrows. 

IVyndham.  The  attempt  would  be  vain.  Will 
Wood-thirfty  Cromwell  be  terrified  at  the  num- 
ber of  his  viclims  ?  It  is  part  with  my  fon,  and 
you  would  periiTi,  without  laving  him. 

Ckaritt*     Then,  at  leaft,  I  will  uie  with  him. 

JVyrtibam,  No,  Sire  •  you  lhall  not  die. 
Your  life  is  no  longer  at  your  own  difpofal  j  it  be- 
longs to  me,  who  have  purchafed  it  at  the  price 
of  ray  blood.  I  prefume  to  affert  my  claims 
upon  it,  conjointly  with  thofe  of  the  nation. 

dories.      What  can  you  exacl  of  me  ? 

Wyndham.  The  accomplishment  of  our  great 
ctefign.  Its  execution  is  now  become  favourable. 
The  falfe  report,  which  has  already  filled  the  vil- 
lage, and  will  foon  be  fpread  through  the  whole 
country,  enfures  you  a  free  retreat,  Make  hafte 
to  depart.  The  delay  of  an  inftant  may  be  fatal 
to  you.  The  Tyger,  difappointed  in  his  firft 
prey,    will  come  hither,   by  the  traces  of  my 

Henry's 


C  HARIE'S      IL  2S7 

Henry's  blood,  to  feek  for  .a  fecond.     Be  you 
out  of  his  reach,  before  his  fury  awakes. 

Derby:  Then,  Lord  Wyndham,  withdraw 
along  with  us  from  Cromwell's  vengeance. 
Bring  your  mother,  your  wife,  and  your  daugh- 
ter, together  with  the  moil  valuable  of  your  ef- 
fects, and  follow  our  deftiny. 

Wyndham.  I  thought,  Lord  Derby,  that  you 
had  known  me  better.  Shall  f  give  up  my  own 
fon  to  the  fword  of  the  executioner,  and  with- 
draw my  own  head  from.  It  \ 

Charles,  Save,  at  leaft,  what  remains  to  you 
of  an  unfortunate  family.  Make  hafte  to  lodge 
them  in  a  place  of  fafety. 

Lady  Mary.     How,  Sire  !   I  abandon  my  fon  ? 

Lady  Wyndham.  Mine  they  have  torn  from 
me,  but  they  {hall  not  tear  me  from  my  huf- 
fcand. 

Wyndham.  You  fee,  death  has  no  terrors  for 
us  :  half  of  my  family  has  perifhed  in  your  fa- 
ther's defence  ;  the  remainder  will  not  hefltate  to 
perifh  for  your  fafety. 

Charles.  No,  I  do  not  accept  this  fanguinary 
offering.  What  a  lot  purfues  me  !  Heaven 
gives  kings,  to  make  nations  happy,  whereas  I  am 
fent  to  bring  deftru£lion  on  my  people.  My 
life  is  a  ground  of  difcord  to  my  fubjecis.  I  fee 
fpme  proftitute  their  confcience  and  their  honour 
to  the  purpofe  of  procuring  my  death,  others,  in 
my  defence,  facritice  their  too  generous  blood. 
It  is  my  blood,  it  is  my  blood  that  the  furies  de- 
mand. Deliver  me  from  this  detefted  life  j  1 
hate  it,  I  abhor  it. 

Wyndham. 


288  CHARLES      H, 

TVyndham.  For  that  very  reafon  it  is  I 
highcft  courage  to  fupport  it.  Heaven,  while  it 
feconds  my  defign,  hath  poi-nted  out  to  us  ourfe- 
veral  duties  ;  your's  to  live,  our's  to  die.  Suffer 
us  to  fulfil  this  glorious  deftiny.  If,  on  the  fcaf- 
fold,  I  learn  that  you  are  fate,  I  fhall  die  happy. 

Charles.  And  ihall  i  live  happy,  even  upon  a 
throne,  to  which  the  facrifice  of  your  life  mui\ 
fmooth  rny  way  ? 

JVyndham.  What  is  your  happinefs  cr  mine  ? 
it  is  the  happinefs  of  a  whole  people,  that  mould 
occupy  your  thoughts.  Led  aftray  by  the  vio- 
lence of  their  palfions,  but  ever  ready,  from  an 
innate  love  of  re.  htude,  to  return  to  the  ways  of 
juftice  and  honour,  they  mutt  be  indebted  to 
you  alone  for  fuch  a  reformation  :  they  will  foon 
come  and  fupplicate  your  return.  Whenever 
that  happens,  grant  their  defire  ;  return,  not  as 
a  conqueror,  but  as  a  ;  \tx  :  my  blood,  then, 
will  not  cry  out  to  you  for  vengeance,  but  for 
mercy,  liberty,  and  love 

Charles  This  ungr  eful  people,  who  pro- 
scribe me  '  are  they  ail  worth,  in  mv  eftimation, 
a  fingle  citizen  like  you  ?  U  uler  a  doubtful  hope 
of  returning,  mould  i  fuffer  fuch  noble  victims 
to  perilh?  No,  Wyadham,  I  have  faid  it ;  I  will 
not  accept  an  offering  of  devoted  blood,  while  I 
can  ranfom  it  with  my  own,  By  what  right 
would  you  force  me  to  -  .ceive  it  ? 

JVyndham.  By  what  right,  Sire  ?  You  make 
me  forget  the  duty  of  a  fubject,  and  afiume  the 
authority  over  you  which  my  a^e  gives  me,  and 
if  I  mull  add,  my  fervices.     When  I  gave  you 

an 


■■:€  HARLES      II.  %l$ 

Sfo  afylum  here,  at  the  rifle  of  my  fortune  and 
life,  tne  honour  of  faving  you  was  a  furhcient 
recompeole  ;  but  when  i  facrifice  my  ion  for 
your  preservation,  with  what  price  can  3  ou  re- 
pay me  r  And  would  you  fsatch  from  me  even 
the  fruits  of  this  facrifice,  and  obiige  me  to  grieve 
that  i  ever  confented  to  it?  No,  Sire,  you  are  a 
king  ;  I  was  a  father:  For  your  fake,  I  am  no 
longer  one  :  reftore  to  me,  therefore,  in  your  per- 
fon,  the  fon  whom  I  had  brought  up  to  fulfil  the 
hopes  of  his  country.  You  afk  me,  by  what 
right  ?  You  have  given  me  a  right,  which  L  will 
exact  in  ail  its  rigour.     Depart. 

Charles,  Generous,  but  cruel,  Wyndham — 
Wyndham.  1  hear  no  more.  Depart,  and  by 
faving  yourielf,  favethe  nation.  Follow  us,  mo- 
ther j  and  you,  my  lord  Derby,  help  me  to  force 
i\\t  king  away.  {He  turns  toward  Lady  IVynd- 
barn.)  My  deareft,  excufe  me,  I  go  to  tafle  the 
Jail  joy  remaining,  to  me  on  earth,  that  of  laving 
my  country,  and  I  will  return  to  your  arm?,  to 
indulge  our  grief  to  its  juft  excefs.  (With  Der- 
by s  btip>  be  jorces  off  the  king.  Lady  Mary  follows 
them,  Elizabeth  leads  Lady  Wyndham  to  her  a£art~ 
meat. 


Eb  ACT 


29o  CHARLES      1L 

A     C     T       V9 

SCENE        I. 

Wyndham. 

What  a  dreadful  night  have  I  pafTed  !  Alas-! 
I  (hall  have  nowe  but  fuch  for  the  fhort  time  that 
I  am  ftill  to  drag  the  burden  of  life  !  Trembling 
for  my  king,  my  country,  and  my  fon,  what  re- 
mains  to  fill  up  the  meafure  of  my  calamities  ?_ 
Were  1  even  permitted  to  bear  them  finely  !  O, 
beloved  wife,  your  defpair  affli&s  me  more  than 
my  own  forrows.  Now  clafping  me  in  your 
arms,  now  pufhing  me  from  you,  with  horror, 
fpent  with  weeping,  convulfed  with  fobs,  paffing 
by  turns,  from  the  frenzy  of  grief,  to  a  calm  ftill 
more  dreadful,  and  from  a  mournful  filence,  to 
fhrieks  of  angui(h,  how  often,  in  this  long  night, 
has  my  heart  been  torn  with  the  fight  of  your 
fijfferiny;s  !  Sleep,  at  length,  fteals  upon  her  eye- 
lids, and  gives  me  a  moment  of  freedom  to  ia- 
dulge  my  griefs  alone.  O,  my  fon!  my  fon! 
never  did  a  vice,  in  you,  draw  tears  from  your 
parents'  eyes  ;  were  you,  then,  dettined  to  fhew 
forth  (o  much  virtue,  only  to  make  us  complete- 
ly wretched  !  (Hefl)cds  a  flood  of  iearsy  hiding  bis 
facs^  at  the  jams  timt*  with  bis  bands, ) 

SCENE 


.     CHARLES      II.  ■  291 

SCENE      II, 
Wyndham,  James. 

Jama,  (looking  at  him  with  affefiionate  compaffu 
an,  and  not  daring  to  interrupt  him.)  Could  I  ex- 
pe6l  to  nnd  him  thus  plunged  in  grief?  Is  this 
the  reward  of  his  virtues  ?  (He  approaches,  and 
calk  him,  with  a  trembling  voice.)    My  lord  ! 

Wyndham,  (flarts  fuddenly  from  his  mufing,  fees 
who  it  is,  and  f peaks  with  eager nefs.)  Ha!  well, 
•what  news  do  you  bring  me  ?  Have  they  a  ihip 
ready  for  the  king  ? 

James.  Yes,  my  lord ;  when  I  came  away3 
Colonel  Lane  had  one  ready  to  fet  fail  the  mo- 
ment of  the  king's  arrival. 

Wyndham,  (his  countenance  brightening  tip  thrdiigh 
his  tears.)  Thank  heaven,  I  feel,  at  lead  one 
part  of  my  anxiety  lightened. 

James.  I  do  not  know  whether  your  lord- 
fhip  has  any  grounds  for  rejoicing, 

Wyndham.      Sayed  thou  ? 

James.  As  I  returned,  I  did  not  meet  my  la- 
dy's carriage,  until  I  was  three  miles  from  the 
harbour, 

Wyndham.     Well  ? 

James.  But  when  I  came  farther  on  the  road,, 
I  faw  foldiers  fcouring  the  country,  on  every 
fide,  with  freih  orders  from  Cromwell, 

Wyndham.     Then  he  is  undeceived  already  as 
to  his  victim  ?  Heavens  !  if  they  were  to 
the  king  1 

Bb  1  Jo: 


2g2  CHARLES      IL 

Janus.  I  apprehend,  they  directed  their  pur- 
fuit  toward  the  fea-iide,  perhaps  toward  Shore- 
ham. 

IVyndham,  Then  I  am  plunged,  again,  into 
the  moft  cruel  alarms  ! 

James.  Her  ladvuYip  charged  me  to  infor^i 
you,  that  Hie  would  difpateh  1  homas  to  you,  or 
e!(e  come  herfelf,  as  ibon  as  the  king  was  aboard 
the  vefTel. 

IVyndham.  Let  them  hafte,  then,  to  relieve 
me  from  this  dreadful  ftare  of  uncertainty.  Go, 
leave  me,  I  pray  you,  if  you  have  nothing  more 
to  communicate  to  me. 

Janus.  Your  lordfhip  will  pardon  me,  but  I 
cannot  thus  leave  you  to  yourfelf  :  I  am  only 
grieved  that  I  was  obliged  to  be  away.  I  fhouLd 
not  have  let  you  facritice  my  young  matter.  I 
would  have  taken  his  place — happy  in  preferving 
to  you  a  fon  worthy  of  fo  much  love  and  efteem. 
How  happy  did  I  return  in  having  fully  perform- 
ed my  menage  !  The  hope  of  finding  your  lord- 
(hip,  pleafed  with  the  good  news  that  I  brought 
back,  did  (o  rejoice  me.  Ah  !  my  lord,  how  was 
I  (hocked,  on  learning  what  had  palled  in  my  sb- 
fence  i  and  now,  when  I  fee  you  in  grief,  you, 
my  lord,  who  are  fo  mild  and  gentle  a  mafter,  I 
know  not  how  I  (hall  fupport  it.     . 

IVyndham.  For  pity's  fake,  my  good  friend, 
do  not  aggravate  the  evils  that  I  endure. 

James,  (tiffing  bis  bend.)  My  mafter  !  my 
excellent  mailer  ! 

iVptdham.  I  thank  you  for  your  affection, 
but  this  proof  of  it  only  affli&s  me  more.  Why 
do  you  fpeak  to  me  of  myfelf  ?  I  would  be  entire- 


CHARLEi      II.  293 

ly  taken  up  with  my  fon,  and  nothing  elfe.  (James 
goes  outy  lifting  up  his  hands  toward  heaven,  and 
looking  forrowfully  at  Wyndham* 


SCENE      IIL 
Wyndham, 

juft  at  this  time,  every  morning,  my  fon,  my 
dear  fon,  came  to  afk  my  blefling.  With  what 
joy  did  I  prefs  him  to  my  heart  !  Inftead  of  re- 
ceiving thefe  embraces  from  the  tendereft  of  fa- 
thers} perhaps  he  lies  now  under  the  menaces  of 
the  favage  Cromwell,  furrounded  by  execution- 
ers, and  the  axe  lifted  over  his  head,  Perhaps, 
this  moment,  he  expires  beneath  theftroke.  Q? 
heaven  !  that  I  fhould  lofe  all,  my  country,  my 
fon,  my  whole  family,  and  yet  cannot  die. 


SCENE      IVo 

Wyndham^  Lady  Wyndham^  Elizabeth, 

Lady  Wyndham,  {enters  with  dijheveiledhalr,  ttfiS 
tottering  fleps^  fiipported  by  Elizabeth,  She  cries 
with  a  voice  Jo  feeble,  as  to  be  fcarce  heard,)  Wynd- 

hwn  ! 

Wyndham,  (turning,  perceive*  her.)  Hesver?  • 
what  perturbation  in  her  fenfes  i  What  wildnefs 
ki  her  eyss  1 

B  b  3  tmdy 


294  CHARLES      II. 

Lady  Wyndham,  (with  haggard  looks.)  Wher$ 
am  I  ?  Is  it  yet  day  ?  I  have  not  feen  Henry. 
He  did  not  come  to  falute  me  this  morning.  My 
dear  fan  I  2nd  yet  he  knows  that  his  afedtion 
makes  the  happinefs  of  my  life.  (She  locks  Jhd- 
foily  at  fVy  id  am.)  Ah  !  I  fee  him,  (j mi  ling.) 
he  is  in  his  father's  arms  —  Let  him  come  hither 
alfo,  and  embrace  me..  (She  holds  cut  hn  arms.) 
He  does  not  come!  He  loves  me  not  !  She  turns% 
and  fixing  her  eyes  upon  Wyndham.)  Barbarian  !  a 
poniard  in  your  hand!  What  hss  he  done,  that 
you  mould  (tab  him  ?  Ah  !  I  will  defend  him  a* 
gainft  you.  (Endeavours  to  break  away — Eliza~ 
beth  holds  her.)  They  load  me  with  chains,  to 
deprive  you  of  my  affirmance.  (She  Harts  and 
fiudders.)  Whence  comes  this  blood  that  I  fee 
flow  in  dreams?  Is  it  mine,  or  my  fon's  i  (She 
falls  back  into  Elizabeth's  arms.) 

Wyndham.  This  laft  ftroke  only  was  wanting 
to  compleat  my  m  fery.  (To  Elizabeth.)  I  had 
juft  left  her  io  compofed  J 

Elizabeth  This  was  her  condition  immedi- 
ate! v  upon  her  awaking. 

I'/ynJham.  What  (hall  1  fay  to  her  ?  I  have 
not  even  a  hope  remaining  to  beguile  her  for- 
rows.  (Leaning  ovr^ety  and  taking  her  hand.) 
Sophia.,  my  deareft  Sophia  ! 

L.idy  i'r  j  idham,     (in  a  languifhing  voice.)      So- 

>  more,     She  was  the  mother  of  Henrys 

but  (he  has  Jolt  him      ( IVyndha?n  appears  ft uti fed 

w>  th  grief      d  moment  of  ftlencc,  during  which  n$~ 

thing  is  beard,  but  the  jobs,  of  Elizabeth.) 


SCENE 


CHARLES     1L  295 

SCENE      V, 
Lady  Wyndbaniy  Wfidham,  Elizabeth^  James. 

James?  [running  in^  with  vrildnefs  in  bis  counter 
nance.)  My  lord,  the  whole  court-yard  is  full  of 
foldiers,  and   Cromwell  himfe'f  is  ccn  ing. 

Lady  Wyndham,  (exerting  berjelf.)  Cromwell? 
Who  is  this  Cromwell  ?  Another  of  my  Con's 
murderers.     (She  faints.) 

IVyndham,  (Having  ^iven  her  fame  ajfiftance) 
Elizabeth,  take  your  mother,  away,  (Elizabeth 
leads  La  iy  JVyndham  out. )  Let  not  the  barbaric 
an  feaft  his  eyes  with  this  fight.  Heaven  !  give 
me  ftrength  to  overcome  my  grief,  that  I  may 
confound  and  ftrike  him  dumb.  (He  refumes  bis 
\fpiritS)  and  waits  Cromwell* s  entering, ) 

SCENE      VI. 
Cromwell,  JVyndbam* 

Cromwell.  My  lord,  you  fee  me  here  filled  with 
9  holy  indignation.  That  you  ihould  feek  to 
deceive  mey  by  delivering  your  fon  up  to  me,  in- 
flead  of  Charles  Stuart,  is  not  what  gives  me  of- 
fence,  but  your  betraying  the  commonwealth^ 
and  attempting  ro  laugh  the  commands  of  heaven 
to  feorn,  fuch  an  excefs  of  audacious  impiety  I 
know  not  how  to  pardon. 

IVyndham.  Is  it  none  in  thee,  Cromwell,  to 
fefthyfelf  up  for  the  avenger  of  heaven  and  the 
eamiaonweakh  ? 

Cromwell* 


296  CHARLES      II. 

Cromivell,  I  know  that  man  is  nothing  in  the 
eyes  of  the  fupreme  Being  ;  but  know  that  he 
may  ferve  as  an  iaftrcmcnt  to  fignalizc  his 
Maker's  power. 

lV\ndham.  It  was,  no  doubt,  to  fignalize 
tiat  power,  that  heaven  chofe  )ou  from  the 
midft  of  riot  and  debauchery,  loaded  with  debts 
and  infamy,  and  ftained  with  more  crimes  than 
ever  took  root  in  the  heart  of  the  moft  abandoned 
villain. 

Cromwell,  Heaven  beheld  my  weaknefTes,  but 
the  love  that  I  bore  my  country  overbalanced 
them. 

Wvndham.  Country  ?  that  name  in  your 
mouth  is  like  rlie  name  of  virtue,  pronounced  in 
hell. 

Cromwell,  The  nation  treats  me  with  more 
juftice ;  the  people  are  fenfible  that  I  have  re- 
stored them  to  their  former  greatnefs. 

JVyndhean,      What,  by  degrading  their  mindfi 
to  the  level  of  hvpocrify  and  fanaticifm  ?  By  ex- 
pofing  them   to  their  neighbours  on  account  of 
the  furious  inveteracy  with   which  they  purfue 
their  own  deftru&ion  ;  and   to  the  execration  of 
the  whole  world,  on  account  of  the  deteftable 
murder  of  their  king  ?    You  have  reftored  them 
to  their  greatnefs,    while  you  make   them  the 
tool   of  your  ambition  ?     Had  you  only  forced 
them  to  fufferbafely  the  indignities  with  which 
they  have  been  loaded  by  you,  would  it  not  have 
been  debafin*  them  fufficiently  ?   How  long  mall 
they  be  the  dupe  of  your  impofture  ?  Why  can 
they  not  fee  you   in  your  true  colours,  not  as  I 
fee  youj  for  the  infinite  depth  of  your  villainy 

hides 


CHARLES      II.  297 

hides  half  your  crimes  from  the  eyes  of  your 
neighbours,  but  fuch  as  you  wou.d  fee  yourfelf, 
could  the  affrightning  gleam  of  remorfe  pene- 
trate to  the  bottom  or  your  black  heart. 

Q-omuAl.  slavery  always  dared  thus  to  calum- 
niate the  noble  efforts  of  courage.  Mull  >,  to 
pleafe  you,  have  left  a  generous  people  groaning 
under  the  yoke  or  tyranny  ? 

fpyndhfim.  To  defcribe  the  horror  with  which 
that  tyranny  infpires  me,  it  is  fufficient  that  I 
cannot  exprefs  how  much  i  abhor  you.  Yes, 
rnonller,  do  you  think  that  I  have  not  marked 
your  ambition,  dealing,  with  perfidious  fi!ence3. 
to  a  throne  ?  i  am  not  the  (lave  of  kings  :  I 
ever  deteded  their  attempts  upon  our  liberty. 
What  curfes  then  do  l  not  owe  your  parliament 
and  you,  the  two -mod  cruel  oppreiTors  of  the 
people  ?  Under  what  fceptred  tyrant  have  they 
(hed  more  tears  or  more  blood  ?  Ferocious  man- 
ners, frantic  errors,  vindictive  profcriptions* 
licentioufnefs,  maffacres  and  depredations,  thele 
bleiltngs  your  republican  knaves  have  given  to 
sn  infatuated  populace,  by  way  of  liberty,  while 
they  crulh  them  under  a  load  of  taxes,  and  punidi 
their  lead  murmur  as  rebellion.  This  monftrous 
chaos  is  the  work  of  yourgloomy  policy  :  1  have 
fcen  yrm  lurk  among  the  independents;  unable 
to  lead  the  feet  by  the  force  of  your  eloquence, 
you  have  agitated  them  by  the  ravings  of  a 
iMtempered  imaginationj  you  wrapped  yourfelf 
in  the  veil  of  religion,  to  amufe  the  ambition  of 
your  rivals :  you  urged  on  all  parties  to  the  ufur- 
parion  of  arbitrary  power,  that  you  might  reach 
it,  by  treading  in  their  fteps,  and  then  difpofTefs 

them 


zrjZ  CHARLES      II. 

them  of  it,  with  the  audacious  violence  natural 
to  your  difpofnion.  Left  fupreme,  and  without 
a  rival,  confounding  beneath  your  feet  both  arms 
and  Jaws,  you  now  plague  the  nation  withftorms 
of  anarchy,  that  it  may  rail  exhaufted  before 
your  defpotic  power.  Now  tell  me  of  greatnefs 
and  liberty. 

Cromwell.  Carnal  man !  it  belongs  to  thee 
truly  to  judge  the  kingdom  of  the  faints,  and  to 
fathom  the  infcrutable  decrees  of  Providence  ! 

IVyndham.  Go,  carry  thefe  canting  declama- 
tions to  your  inipired  foldiers.  Go  fall  into* 
trances  and  fee  vifions,  and  fhed  hypocritical 
tears  before  your  parliament :  they  are  well 
worthy  to  be  condemned  to  the  diferace  of  ap- 
plauding them. 

Cromvjeil,  J  weep  for  the  blindnefs  of  thy 
heart;  it  is  incurable,  and  cannot  receive  light 
from  me.  Nothing  but  heaven  can  illuminate 
thee3  if  ever  thou  malt  deferve  that  grace.  De- 
liver me  now  up  Charles  Stuart  ;  the  fame  heaven 
demands  him  from  thee  by  my  lips. 

IVyndham,  Since  thou  art  made  the  inftru- 
ment  through  which  heaven's  will  is  declared,  it 
is,  no  doubt,  revealed  to  thee  where  thou  (halt 
find  thy  vi&im. 

Cromwell.  It  is  revealed  to  me  that  I  fhould 
feek  for  him  in  thy  cattle,  and  all  through  the 
country. 

Wjindhawu  Well,  why  do(\  thou  hefitate  to 
follow  infpi rations  that  arefo  clear  ? 

Cromwell.  My  foldiers  are  doin^  fo  at  this 
moment,  while  thou  thinkeft  mebufy  in  answer- 
ing thy  vain  difcourfes. 

JVyndkum* 


-CH  A  R  L  E  S      II.  299 

'   Wyndham.     Wait  then  in  filence  for  the  event 
of  their  fearch, 

Cromwell.     Coniider  that  your  life  is  at  flake. 
Wyndham.     I  have  put  that  of  my  fon  in  your 
hands,  do  you  think  1  tremble  for  my  own  ? 

Cromivdl.  You  Hull  periih  with  your  Ton,  and 
you  (hall  fee  your  whole  family  perifh  with  you. 
They  have  ijl  been  guilty  of  rebellion,  through 
you,  and  through  you  they. fhall- all  fuffer  the 
pnpifhment  due  to  it. 

Wyndham^  We  are  all  impatient  to  -meet  it 
and  to  defy  yo,ur  vengeance.  I  have  fatisfied 
mine  upon  you,  by  forcing  you  to  efteem  me  as 
much  as  1  defpjfe  you.  See,  Cromwell,  the 
difference  between  guilt  and  honour.  By  dint 
of  violence  and  intrigues,  you  n^ay  find  a  par- 
liament bale  enough  to  beftow  the  fovereignty 
on  you  :  but,  closthed  with  a  power  to  which 
nothing  invites  you,  except  the  charms  of  the 
guilt  that  it  mull  eoft  yoy,  it  will  foon  hecome 
burthenfome,  when  you  find  no  .new  crimes  to 
commit.  There  will  remain  to  you  but  the 
terrors  of  a  confeience  alarmed  by  premature  old 
age.  Your  children  will  curie  you,  and  the 
guilty  throne  which  you  leave  them  to  inherit  ; 
whereas  {  fhah  die  bleft  by  my  family  which  I 
facrifice  to  the  caufe  of  virtue. 

Crom ■■■ell.  Your  name,  as  that  of  a  traitor, 
(hall  be  made  infamous 

Wyndham  it  cannot,  even  by  pafTins:  through 
your  infamous  mouth  ;  and  \i  that  does  not 
tarnifh  my  name,  jud^e  if  any  thing  can  :  but  it 
will  receive  itSvgreatejft  fplendor  from  my  punifh- 
ment :  it  will  ioadyour's  with  eternal  difgraee, 

while 


300  CHARLES      TL 

while  they  defcend  togttlier  to  the  remote^ 
poitenty.  Nay,  expect  from  my  death  a  mil 
more  gl  rious  effect.  Numerous  alliances  unite 
me  to  the  tirft  peers  ut  this  realm.  They  will 
not  look  oo  unconcerned,  while  the  fame  blood 
"which  fills  their  veins,  is  fhed  under  the  axe  of 
the  executioner,  *i  i»ere  never  can  arife,  in  the 
three  kingdoms,  a  montter  equal  to  thee  ;  but  I 
honour  my  counrry  too  much,  to  fuppofe  that  it 
has  not  citizens  left,  who  furpafs  me  in  virtue. 
When  they  lee  a  whole  family  perifh  with 
hero.fm,  m  performance  pf  their  duty,  a  gene- 
rous emulation  will  ie.ze  their  noire  fouls.  The 
finking  off  q£  my  head  mil  Lea  iignal  to  them 
to  raliVj  from  ail  quarters,  i  already  fee  them 
ruftung  on  you  *•  b  (lie  then  to  complete  a  mur- 
der which  ma)  deliver  me  from  the  fight  of  your 
primes,  and  will  arm  to  many  avengers  of  them. 
£ofrie  y  urfejf  and  prepare  my  fv3lFoid.  1  will 
go  befoi  >.  u.  (/is  be  is  £«'»£  out,  he  perceives 
had)  Maiy^  who  opproachfi  ha/tit)  ) 


SCENE       VII. 
Gom.veil,   La.!y    Vtary\  Wyntiham* 

Wyn  J)?f)u  Is  ir  you,  my  dear  mother  ?  T  fee 
jov  fparkle  in  >our  e;cs  !  What  news  of  the 
king  ? 

Lady  Mary,  (with  an  exllamnfonofjoy.)  He  is 
fawd. 

IP* i t !bami  (travfborted  with  de^bt. )     YV  h at  do 

I  hear  i 

Lady 


CHARLES      If.  301 

Lady  Mary.  Yes,  my  Ton,  the  (hip  which 
carried  him,  disappeared  from  my  view,  before  I 
left  the  harbour  :  a  favourable  wind  blew  all  the 
while.  It  mu ft  have  conveyed  him,  by  this  time, 
to  the  coaft  of  France. 

Wyndham  {lifting  up  his  arms  to  heaven.)  Juit 
heaven  !  thou  crowneft  all  my  wifhes  at  once  : 
thou  faveft  the  king  through  my  means  :  thou 
rendered  my  life  and  my  death  equally  ufeful  to 
my  country!  Well,  Cromwell,  you  are  ftruck 
with  furprize.  Where  are  now  ail  the  hopes 
with  which  your  holy  infpirations  puffed  up  the 
pride  of  your  foldiers  ?  Was  Charles  to  have 
been  your  prifoner  ?  Tremble,  villain.  He  goes 
to  prepare  chains  for  you.  From  the  oppofite 
coafts  of  the  ocean  his  name  will  come  to  ani- 
mate all  good  Englishmen,  and  to  freeze  you 
with  terror.  What  tranfport  will  it  be  to  me, 
in  my  lad  moments,  to  fee  all  your  fchemes 
baffled  ! 

Cromwelly  (with  a  fmile  of  contempt . )  Wy  n  d  - 
ham,  you  know  me  not  :  you  (hall  fee  whether 
I  fuffer  my  fortune  to  depend  upon  events,  or 
the  opinion  of  men.  .  (Goes  toward  the  door^  and 
makes  aflgn  to  the  foldiers  to  came  forward,) 


Cc  SCENE 


3o2  CHARLE  S      Ti, 

SCENE    VIII. 

Cromwell^  Lady  Mary^  Wyndbam^  Soldiers, 

(At  a  diflance  Henry  is  feenjl  retching    his  c 
forth  to    Wyndham^  and  endeavouring   to  Jprlng  to- 
wards bitn}  but  held  by  Luke^   Ptmbel>  and  Talgcl.j 

Cromwell^  (to  the  foldicrs.)  Come  in,  brave 
defenders  of  the  good  old  caufe  ;  come. and  re- 
joice with  me:  you  fee  in  Wyndham  the  de- 
liverer of  his  country. 

The  foldiehj  (a/lonlJJoed.)  In  Wyndham  ? 
Cromwell.  Yes,  my  friends  :  the  parliament 
ha'd  promifed  a  reward  to  fuch  as  fhould  deliver 
Charles  Stuart  into  their  hands.  The  generous 
Wyndham  could  have  earned  this  reward,  but 
he  difdained  it.  He  had  feen  me,  before,  fend 
the  tyrant's  younger  brother  *  over  fea.  H 
done  more,  he  has  driven  away  the  tyrant  him- 
felf,  to  the  end,  that  none  of  theaccurfed  familys 
may  remain  in  the  land  of  the  faints. 

t'/yndham.  How,  Cromwell,  do  you  prefume 
to  fay — 

Cromwell^  (interrupting  him.)  Nay,  fear  not 
that  1  mould  difapprove  your  wife  policy  :  you 
meant  to  (hew  Stuart's  deareft  friends,  how  un- 
worthy he  was  of  their  attachment.    Trembling 

for 


*  The  Duke  of  Glouctfter,  the  younpeft  fort  of 
Charles  1.  Cromwell  fent  him  over  to  Holland,  after 
the  beheading  of  his  father. 


CHARLES      II.  303 

for  his  own  fafety  alone,  he  abandons  them  to 
every  danger,  and  expofes  them  to  our  juft  re- 
venge. Children  of  light,  blefs  the  Lord.  One 
tyrant  executed  by  the  avenging  fword  of  the 
laws,  and  another  fent  away  from  this  facred 
iiland,  never  to  return,  are  pledges  to  fecure  the 
empire  of  the  faints,  and  the  reign  of  liberty  for 
ever. 

IVyndham.     What,  knave  !   hiift  thou  the  im- 
pudence to  interpret  my  actions  thus  ? 

Crom  <  ell.  Silence,  profane;  thou  feed:  not 
that  heaven  governs  thy  actions,  in  fpite  of  thy- 
felf.  it  manifefts  both  its  power  and  its  favour- 
ing protection,  to  the  good  old  caufe,  by  render- 
ing thee  the  blind  inftrument  of  its  decrees. 
Thou  haft  done  fervice  to  the  commonwealth. 
I  am  juft,  and  therefore  I  reftore  thy  fon  to  thee, 
as  the  reward  of  it.  Let  him  be  fet  free. 
[Henry  is  brought  forward,  andvjhilfl  IVyndham  in~ 
dulges  in  fdence  the  tranfports  of  his  joy,  Cromwell 
fays  to  his  fildiers)  Come,  my  friends,  let  us  go 
and  return  thanks  to  the  Almighty,  The  price 
which  the  parliament  had  fet  on  the  head  o^ 
Charles  Stuart,  (hall  be  distributed  among  you, 
fince  England  is  rid  of  him  :  1  will  folick  alfo 
frefh  bounties  for  you.  It  is  proper,  that  the 
army  of  faints  mould  partake  of  the  joy  which 
the  Lord  himfelf  feels  on  this  day  of  bieflings. 
( He  goes  out  with  an  air  of  triumph^  and  the  fold; - 
srsfoHnv  him,) 

C  c  2  SCENE 


304  CHARLE  S-     II 


S     C    E     N     E      IX. 

Wynihartt)  Henry. 

races  Lady  Mary,   IVyndharri 
binty  he  cries  ) 
The     •    i      •><:  !    he  efcapes  me,   before  I  have 
been  able  to  unmafk  him. 

• )'.     O,  father,   let  us  think  of  nothing 
but   the  joy  of  feeing  ourfeives  once  more  toge- 
and  the  d  by  our  means. 

Lady  Mary.     Will  you  pardon  me  the  danger 
to  which  1  expofed  your  life  ? 

<  yy    (with  vivacity.)       Pardon  you  ?    Ah, 

-it  thanks.     To  you  I 

that,  i   have  preferved   the  honour  of  our 

name,  fulfilled  theirioft  (acred  duty,  and  mewed, 

ips,   that   1   am  not  unworthy  of — But  my 

her — my  fitter — let  me  fee  them.     I  cannot 

in  my  impatience. 

'    your  poor  mother  !    me 

has  ;  .  iy  for  the  honour  that  you  have  ac- 

g  fever,  brought  on  by  the  agi- 

m  of  her  mind,  has  troubled  and  difcompo- 

ier  fenfes. 

Henry.     Heavens  !  what  do  I  hear  ? 

ulbam*  Be  not  uneafy  ;  I  hope  yourpre- 
knee  will  focn  reilore  her  to  tranquility,  by 
filling  her  heart  with  joy. 

Henry.     Then  let  me  fly  to  her. 

■fnubam,     (taling    bis    band.)       No  ;    flop  : 
wc  mufl  coafuk  her  weaknefs.      I  will  go  and 

prepare 


CHARLES       If.  305 

prepare  her  to  receive  you.     But  what  do  I  fee  ? 
Heavens  !  'tis  Ihe  herfelf. 


SCENE       X.      > 

Lady  Mary,    Wyndham,    Henry,    Lady  Wyndham^ 
Elizabeth. 

Lady  Wyndham,  (ftruggling  violently  to  break 
away  from  Elizabeth.)  It  is  in  vain  that  you 
would  hold  me,  I  muft  fee  this  Cromwell. 
He  muft  give  me  back  my  fon. 

Henry,  [running  to  her.)  Here  he  is  !  That 
very  fon  whom  you  feek,  is  here. 

Lady  Wyndham,  [flopping  him  at  arm's  length, 
and  confidering  him  with  a  look  of  aflonifhmcnt. ) 
Whoever  thou  art,  who  reprefentell  my  dear 
Henry,  I  conjure  the?)  remain  thus  for  ever  be- 
fore my  eyes, 

Henry,  [embracing  her.)  No,  rather  prefs  me 
to  your  boibm.  It  is  I,  your  fon,  that  you  hold 
in  your  arms. 

Lady  Wyndham,  {tenderly. )  Yes,  thefe  are  his 
features,  his  looks  ;  and  thus  my  dear  fon  em- 
braced me.  Yet  I  dare  not  believe  it  ;  my  dis- 
ordered brain  is  (o  full  of  delufive  phantoms. 

Henry.  No,  you  are  not  deceived.  Shall  I 
be  a  ftranger,  then,  in  your  eyes  ?  O,  mother, 
my  dear  mother  ! 

Lady  Wyndham,    (farting,    ivith  an   emotion  of 

joy,)   Ah  1  i  know  thee  by  the  dear  name  which 

C  c  3  thy 


3«6  CHARLES      II. 

thy  affecVion  gives  me.  Why  didft  thou  not 
pronounce  it  before  ? 

Hmry.  Well,  then,  I  will  repeat  it  to  you  a 
thoufanci  and  a  thoufand  times.  My  mother, 
my  tkareft  mother,  you  fee  me  reftored  to  your 
love  for  ever. 

Lady  JVyndham.  Is  this  really  fo  ?  A  healing 
balm  compofes  and  cools  my  veins.  O,  my 
ion,  what  have  I  fuffered  for  thee  ! 

Henry.  All  your  fufferings  were  in  my  heart': 
but  let  us  remember  fo  many  evils  only  the  bet- 
tei  to  enjoy  our  happinefs,  (He  runs  to  Eliza- 
beth, and  embraces  her.)  My  dear  fitter,  I  have 
given  you  much  concern  and  affiiclion.  Ah  I 
how  I  feared,  left  I  /hould  never  fee  you  again  ! 

Elizabeth,  (fighing.)  I  fhali  not  be  able  to 
exprefs  my  joy  to-day  :   my  heart  is  too  full. 

IVynihairi.  My  dear  Sophia,  I  can  now  meet 
your  fight,  without  apprehenfion.  Henry  is  co- 
vered with  glory  ;  and  without  lofing  our  child5 
I  have  faved  our  king. 

Lady  Wyndham*  Since  it  is  fo,  I  pardon  you» 
My  Ton  and  you  are  dearer  to  me  than  ever. 


S  C  E  N  2 


CHARLES      II,  307 


SCENE      XL 

Lady  Mary,  Wyndham,  Lady  Wyndham,  Elizabeth, 
Henry,  Pope,  James,  Thomas, 

{Pope  enters,  conduced  in  triumph,  by  James  and 
Thorn  a  1  :  Henry,  perceiving  him,  runs  and  takes 
him  by  the  hand,  and  leads  him  to  Wyndham.) 

Henry.  Father,  I  prefent  to  you  the  generous 
companion  of  my  facrifice.  (Pope,  going  to  throw 
himfelf  at  Wyndham*  s  feet  y  V/yndham  opens  his  arms 
to  embrace  him, )  No,  Pope,  come  to  my  arms. 
You  were  willing  to  die  with  my  fen  :  hence- 
forward you  can  be  nothing  elfe  than  equal  in 
my  affection.  (To  James  and  Thomas.)  And  you, 
my  friends,  who  have  (hewn  us  fo  much  zeal  and 
arYedion,  you  (hall  live  with  me  for  ever  :  we 
will  form,  all  together,  a  family  of  brothers  and 
good  citizens.  Let  us  live  to  love  each  other, 
and  let  us  join  our  vows  for  the  liberty  of  our 
country,  while  we  await  an  opportunity  of  (bed- 
ding every  drop  of  our  blood,  if  neceffary,  for 
the  re-eftablifhrnent  of  it. 


The  obfervation  of  dramatic  unity  in  the  fore- 
going piece,  having  rendered  fome  deviation 
from  hiftorical  truth  neceffary,  in  the  names  of 
perfons,  the  fituation  of  places,  and  the  order  of 
dates  and  events,  left  we  ihouid  lead  our  young 

readers 


Jp8   ADVENTURES  OF  CHARLES  H. 

readers  into  an  error,  with  refpedt.  to  the  circum- 
ftances  of  an  action  fo  memorable,  we  have  judg- 
ed it  expedient  to  fubjoin  an  account  of  the 
flight  of  Charles  II.  as  hiftory  has  tranCmitted 
it  to  us,  together  with  the  genuine  particulars 
which  accompanied  it. 


ADVENTURES  OF  CHARLES  IL 

IN  HIS  FLIGHT, 

AFTER  the  battle  of  Worcefter,  the  king 
left  the  field,  accompanied  by  fifty  horfe- 
men.  He  kept  his  efcort  together,  during  a 
flight  of  twenty-fix  miles,  in  order  to  pro- 
ted:  himfelf,  either  from  the  infults  of  the  coun- 
try people,  or  againft  the  detachments  that  Crom- 
well had  fent  out  in  purfuit  of  him.  He  then 
thought  proper  to  feparate  from  them,  and  only 
retained  about  his  perfon,  the  Earl  of  Derby, 
and  Lord  Wilmor,  with  whom  he  arrived  at  the 
old  monaftery  of  Witlade,  the  occupier  of  the 
lands  on  which  the  monaftery  flood,  having  for- 
merly given  arc  afylum  to  the  earl,  after  the  de- 
feat of  his  little  army.  This  fanner,  whofe 
name  deferves  to  be  handed  down  to  poflerity, 
was  called  Pcntlerel  :  he  had  four  bi others,  men 
of  loyalty,  like  himfelf,  who  had  another  fmall 
farm  at  Bofcohel,  in  the  neighbourhood.  He 
feint  fur  them,  and  into  th  ,  the  king  re- 

figned  his  deitiny.    They  cut  off  his  hair,  black- 
ened 


i  N    8  IS    FLIGH  T.  309 

fcftfcd  his  face,  and  conduced  him,  in  an  old  tat- 
tered difguife,  to  cut  wood  in  the  foreft.  They 
.made  him  lie  in  a  little  chapel,  uponaftraw  bed, 
with  a  wretched  bolfter.  A  woman,  whom  they 
were  obliged  to  admit  into  the  fecret,  brought 
him  milk,  butter  and  eggs.  1  'he  king  was  fur- 
prized  at  feeing  her,  and  not  knowing  whether 
the  Penderels  had  trufted  her  without  referve,  he 
afked  her,  in  order  to  afTure  himfelf,  how  fhe 
could  think  of  being  faithful  to  one  of  the  king's 
party.  7'he  woman  anfwered,  without  explain- 
ing herfelf  further,  that  fhe  would  be  faithful  to 
the  king  as  long^as  fhe  lived,  She  uttered  thefe 
words  with  fuch  an  appearance  of  feeling,  that 
Charles'  apprehenfions  were  perfectly  quieted, 
and  he  made  a  very  hearty  meal  of  the  vickiais 
which  (he  had  brought  him,  necefiity  rendering 
it,  perhaps,  the  molt  delicious  that  ever  he  made-- 
in  his  life.  Charles  had  fcarccly  left  Witiad'e* 
before  fome  of  Cromwell's  foldiers  alighted  at 
the  monaftery,  and  fearched  it  all  through.  Luck-- 
ilv  a  very  abundant  fhower  of  rain  hindered 
them  From  leaving  its  to  fcour.the  neighbourhood; 
and  nothing  difturbed  the  little  repofe,  which  ex- 
ceflive  wearinefs,  and  violent  anxiety,-  fuiFered 
the  king  to  enjoy  in  his  difmal  lodging,. 

Informed  of  this  alarm,  the  next  morning,  as. 
Toon  as  he  awoke,  he  refolved  immediately  to  go 
into  Wales.  He  promifed  himfelf  more  fecurity 
there,,  until  he  fhouid  be  able  to  make  for  Lon- 
don,, whither  he  had  fent  Lord  Wiimot,  to  wait 
his  coming.  He  fat  out,  therefore,  at  night, 
with  one  of  fhe  Penderels  for  his  guide.  As 
they  paffed  near  a  mill,  the  miller  hearing  them 

open 


%io    ADVENTURES  OF  CHARLES  tC 

open  a  gate  at  the  end  of  the  bridge  that  croflecf" 
his  mill-race,  fallied  out  haftily  from  his  mill, 
and  demanded,  with  a  threatening  tone,  where 
they  were  going,  at  fuch  an  unfeafonable  hour. 
They  continued  endeavouring  to  open  the  gate3 
without  amVering  him.  '\  he  miller  ran  to- 
wards them,  crying  out  to  them  to  itop,  at 
which  fumnfofrs  Penderel  abandoned  the  bridge, 
and  ruthed  into  the  ftream  :  the  king  followed 
him,  without  hesitation,  the  noife  that  he  made 
in  the  water  directing  his  lteps,  as  the  darknefs 
prevented  him  from  feeing  his  guide.  Luckily 
the  fame  darknefs,  together  with  the  miller's  cor- 
pulence, hindered  him  from  overtaking  them. 

/  arrived,  quite  wet,  at  the  houfe  of  ?. 
country-man,  named  Wolf,  an  acquaintance  of 
Penderels.  Wolf,  after  having  concealed  the 
king  as  well  as  he  could,  went  himfelf  to  the 
edge  of  the  river,  to  prepare  a  palTage  for  him  ; 
but  he  found  the  whole  bank  fo  covered  with  fol- 
diers,  that  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  difiuade  his 
guefl:  from  fo  dangerous  an  enterprize.  Charles 
was  obliged  to  return  to  Bofcobel,  and  from 
thence  to  the  -chapel,  where  he  kept  himfelf  con- 
cealed, while  the  Penderels  examined  the  coun- 
try, to  difcover  whether  there  were  any  of  the 
parliament's  troops  in  the  neighbourhood.  One 
of  them,  as  he  went  his  rounds,  met  a  perfon,  at 
the  fight  of  whom  the  king  was  agreeably  fur- 
prized.  His  name  was  Carelefs,  one  of  thofe 
brave  warriors,  who,  in  order  to  let  the  king  gain 
a  larger  diftance  from  Worcefter,  had  ftemmed 
every  effort  of  the  enemy  for  a  confiderable  time, 
at  the  city  gates.     Carelefs  was  a  native  of  this 

part 


IN    HI  3    FLIGHT,  311 

part  of  the  country,  and  knew  the  Penderels, 
who  brought  him  home  to  their  houfe.  The 
king  having  hurt  his  foot,  came  hither  at  night 
to  have  it  drefled.  Careiefs  knew  him,  and 
would  not  quit  him  afterwards.  He  re-conduct- 
ed him  to  the  foreft  before  break  of  day,  and 
made  him  climb  into  a  large  tree,,  where  they 
both  remained  concealed  among  the  thick  bran- 
ches, for  near  four' and  twenty  hours.  They  faw 
Jeverai  foldiers  walk  by  at  the  foot  of  the  tree, 
many  of  whom  expreficd  the  mofl  ardent  defire 
•of  feizing  the  king.  This  tree  received  the 
name  of  the  royal  oak,  and  has  ever  fmce  been 
honoured  with  the  higheit  veneration  by  the 
people  of  the  country. 

Neverthelefs,  a  fecret  report  had  been  fpread, 
that  Charles  was  fomewhere  thereabout.  One 
of  the  Penderels  going  into  a  neighbouring  vil- 
lage, found  there  a  number  of  foldiers  verybufi- 
ly  engaged  in  collecting  every  account  poilihle 
concerning  the  king.  The  officer,  who  com- 
manded them,  put  many  queftions  to  Penderel 
himfelf,  and  promifed  him  a  great  reward  if  he 
would  gi\e  information  where  Charles  lay  con- 
cealed. Penderel  did  not  fwerve  from  his  loyal- 
ty ;  but  his  account  of  this  ci  re  urn  (ranee,  indu- 
ced the  king  to  take  the  ^efolution  of  feeking  a- 
nother  retreat. 

The  guide,  whom  he  had  fent  with  Lord 
Wilmot,  to  conduct  him  to  London,  returning, 
informed  the  king,  that  his  lordfhip,  defpairing 
to  reach  town,  through  the  crouds  of  foldiers, 
who  rilled  all  the  roads,  had  flopped  fhort  at  the 
iioufe  of  a  gentleman  of  the  royal  part}',  named 

Witgrave, 


Si2   ADVENTURES  OF  CHARLES  II. 

Wirgfayt,  where  he  was  in  fafety.  Charles  con- 
ceived the  defign  of  going  to  him,  and  had  the 
good  fortune  to  fucceed,  in  fpite  of  every  dan- 
ger that  he  was  to  encounter. 

Charles,  while  he  indulged  the  fatisfacYion  that 
he  felt  on  feeing  Lord  Wilmot,  had  not  time  to 
deliberate  with  hirn  on  the  courfe  or  meafures 
which  would  he  mod  proper  for  them  to  take, 
when  a  party  of  foldiers  appeared  before  Mr. 
Witgrave's  houfe,  with  an  intention  of  fearch- 
ing  it.  Refiftance  would  have  been  unfeafona- 
ble.  Witgrave  concealed  his  gueits,  and,  at  the 
fume  time,  opened  his  door  with  fo  much  alacri- 
ty and  unconcern,  that  Ins  vifitors  were  induced 
to  make  but  a  very  flight  fearch.  It  was  foon  af- 
terwards underftood,  that  a  fre(h  infpeclion  had 
been  made  of  Witlade  monastery  ;  and  that  the 
officer  of  the  party  by  whom  it  was  fearched, 
had  feveral  times  held  his  piftol  to  Farmer  Pen- 
derel's  breait,  to  oblige  him  to  confefs  where  the 
king  was  concealed. 

The  danger  increafing  every  day,  Charles 
dropped  all  thoughts  of  flaying  any  longer  in 
England,  and  refolved  to  get  as  near  the  fea  as 
he  could,  in  order  to  embark,  with  more  fpeed 
and  convenience,  the  firft  opportunity.  Colonel 
Lane,  a  zealous  loyalift,  who  lived  at  Bentley,  a 
place  but  a  few  miles  diflant,  promifed  to  co- 
operate in  effecting  this  purpofe.  The  king  had 
made  his  feet  fo  fore  by  walking  in  heavy  boots, 
or  great  (floes,  which  had  not  been  made  for 
him,  that  he  was  obliged  to  ride.  He  reached 
Bently,  in  company  with  Lord  Wilmot,  and  the 
four  Penderels,  who  had  always  been  fo  faithful 

to 


IN    HIS    FLIG  HT.  3(3 

•  20  him.  Colonel  Lane  propofed  to  convey  the 
king  to  Brhlol,  where  they  might  hope  to  find 
Tome  veffel  that  would  take  him  on  board.  This 
officer  had  a- relation,  called  Mrs.  Norton,  who 
lived  about  three  miles  from  Brirtol,  and  was 
then  very  far  advanced  in  her  pregnancy.  He 
obtained  a  pafTport  (without  which,  it  was  i-rn- 
pofilhle  to  travel  in  thofe  troublefome  times)  for 
his  filler  and  a  (ervant,  under  pretence  of  vifiting 
his  relation  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Briftol. 
The  king,  therefore,  fat  off  on  horfeback,  and 
rode  behind  Mifs  Lane's  chalfe,  pafTing  for  her 
fervant.  Lord  Wilmot  leading  a  brace  of  fpa- 
niels,  coupled  together,  and  carrying  a  ha#vk 
upon  his  wrift,  parted  for  a  fporting  country  gen- 
tleman of  their  acquaintance,  who  had  met 
them  on  the  road. 

During  this  journey,  which  lafted  but  three 
days,  the  king  met  with  feveral  adventures,  mod 
of  them  fufficient  to  infpire  him  with  well- 
-rounded terrors.  He  had  only  travelled  fix 
miles,  when  his  horfe  having  dropped  a  (hoe, 
he  went  himfelf  to  the  nearer!:  blackfmith,  to 
have  him  (hod,  as  he  chofeto  go  through  with 
the  character  that  he  had  affumed.  While  he 
flood  by  at  the  operation,  the  fmith  afked  hini 
what  news  were  going,  and  if  the  king  was  ta- 
ken. Charles  anfwered,  without  changing 
countenance,  that  he  had  not  heard  any  thing  or 
it,  and  that,  in  all  likelihood,  his  majesty  was 
gone  back  to  Scotland.  I  60  not  think  fo,  re- 
plied the  fmith  ;  I  mould  rather  fuppofe  him  to 
•be  concealed  in  England.  Wherever  he  is,  I 
fhould  wifh  to  know  his  place  of  concealment, 
D-d  The 


314  ADVENTURES  OF  CHARLES  II. 

The  parliament  has  published  a  proclamation, 
offering  a  reward  of  iocol.  ilerling,  to  whoever 
will  difcover  him. 

This  dilagreeable  converfation  being  over,  the 
pnrty  fat  forward  again,  and  continued  their  route 
to  near  Evelham,  where,  as  they  were  about  to 
pafs  a  ford,  they  perceived,  all  at  once,  a  number 
of  horfes  {landing,  faddled,  at  the  other  fide  of  it. 
Charles  was  for  going  right  on,  but  his  compa- 
ny, lefs  refolute,  prevailed  upon  him,  at  length, 
to  turn  off.  They  found  themfelves  frill  in  the 
view  of  the  foldiers,  whom  they  had  thought  to 
avoid  :  but  the  prince  (hewed  fo  good  a  counte- 
nance, and  the  whole  cavalcade  appeared  fo  much 
in  nature,  as  a  country  family  paying  a  vifit  in 
the  neighbourhood,  that  the  foldiers,  who  were, 
at  that  moment,  bulied  in  feeking  him,  and  him 
only,  conceived  not  the  fmalleil  fufpicion  of 
him. 

When  they  came  to  Mrs.  Norton's,  Mifs 
Lane  told  her,  that  (lie  had  brought  with  her  a 
young  man,  whom  (he  wiihed  her  to  take  into 
her  fervice.  He  was  the  fon,  fhe  faid,  of  a  poor 
countryman,  in  her  neighbourhood,  and  had 
caught  an  ague  on  the  road,  for  which  reafoh, 
fhe  requefted  that  he  might  have  a  room  to  him- 
felf.  Charles  retired  to  it,  and  did  not  ftirout ; 
but  a  fervant  of  the  houfe,  whofe  name  was 
Pope,  knew  him,  and,  throwing  himfelf  at  his 
feet,  fs  it  you,  Sire?  faid  he  ;  I  have  ken  your 
majefty  when  very  youne,  and  therefore  was  not 
long  recollecting  you  :  if  I  can  ferve  your  ma- 
jefty,  put  my  zeal  to  the  teft,  and  depend  upon 
my  fidelity.     Charles  was  furprized  and  embar- 

rafTed 


IN    HIS    FLIGHT.  315 

nfled  at  this  new  adventure.  He  faw  an  equal 
rifk  in  discovering  himfelf  to  a  ftranger,  and  in 
fhewing  that  he  diftrufted  a  man,  who  had  it  in 
his  power  to  verify  his  fufpicions.  In  this  di- 
lemma, the  apparent  fincerity  of  the  man,  de- 
termined the  king  to  conceal  nothing.  The  e- 
vent  proved  that  he  was  right.  Pope  rendered 
the  king  great  fervices,  and  contributed  not  a  lit- 
tle to  his  fafety,  by  pointing  out  to  him,  as  a  fafe 
retreat,  the  houfe  of  Colonel  Wyndham,  where, 
in  effect,  he  fpent  nineteen  days,  waiting  until 
his  friends  mould  find  an  opportunity  for  him 
to  embark  on  board  fome  fhip. 

This  was  not  an  eafy  matter,  on  account  of 
the  precautions  taken  againft  receiving  ftrangers, 
It  was  even  dangerous  topropofeit,  the  captains 
of  (hips  fulpeeTmg  every  body,  whom  they  did 
not  know,  to  be  the  king,  and  dreading  the  pe- 
nalties denounced  againft  fuch  as  mould  refufe 
to  difcover  him.  A  report  of  his  death  had 
prevailed  fome  time,  and  would  have  contributed 
to  rendcr*his  life  ferene,  had  it  lafted  longer.  He 
learned  this,  from  the  ringing  of  bells,  and  the 
public  rejoicings  that  were  made,  on  account  of 
it,  in  the  neighbourhood  ;  but  the  report /ell  to 
the  ground  too  foon,  and  did  not,  in  the  lea  ft, 
diminiih  the  difficulties  which  oppofed  his  em- 
barking, notwithstanding  all  the  pains  that  Co- 
lonel Wyndham  took,  in  order  to  forward  this 
object. 

A  merchant,  of  the  name  of  Efdcn,  had  juft 
conveyed  Lord  Barclay  over  fea,  whither  he. fled 
from  the  perfecution  of  the  parliament.  Colo- 
nel Wyndham,  who  knew  this  merchant,  went 
D  d  2  direaiy 


336   ADVENTURES  OF  CHARLES  it 

directly  to  Lyme,  where  he  lived,  and  entreated 
him  to  perform  the  fame  kindnefs  for  a  gentle- 
man, a  friend  of  his,  who  would-  defire  to  take 
no  more  than  one  fervant  with  him  in  the  whole. 
Mr.  Efden  went  with  him  to  the  village  of  Car- 
mouth,  where  he  directed  him  to  a  mafter  of  a 
fhip,  with  whom  he  might  make  his  agreement. 
It  was  fixed,  that  the  captain  fliould  come  the 
next  day  but  one,  and  receive  his  pafTengers  a- 
boardj  at  a  folitary  p art  of  the  coafr.  The  king 
was  exacl:  to  the  hour  of  his  appointment,  but 
no  fhip  appeared.  Thev  learned,  afterwards, 
that  the  preceding  day,  there  had  been  a  fair  irv 
Lyme,  at  which  the  parliament's  proclamation, 
againft  fuch  as  fliould  harbour  or  conceal  the 
king,  was  read.  The  captain's  wife  being  in- 
formed, by  her  hufband,  that  he  was  going  to 
convey  to  France,  certain  perfons,  whom  he  did 
not  name  to  her,  oppofed  his  defign  very  ftrong- 
ly  ;  and,  in  order  to  hinder  him  completely 
from  effecting  it,  me  locked  him  up  in  his  room, 
untie  he  was  bufy  getting  ready  fome  things  ne- 
Gtflaty   for  the  voyage. 

Dreading,  left  this  incident  mould  become 
public,  Charles  was  obliged  to  quit  Colonel 
Wyndham's  houfe,  without  well  kr^owing  where- 
to face.  He  proceeded,  however,  towards  Dor- 
chefter,  accompanied  ftill  by  Wilmot,  Colonel 
Wyndham,  with  one  of  his  Servants,  being  their 
guides.  Wilmot's  horfe  loling  a  (hoe,  the  cir- 
cumftance  was  very  near  occaiioning  the  king's 
difcovery.  They  had  lent  the  horfe  to  be  fhod 
in  a  village  where  they  had  flopped,  as  night 
came  on.      The  bJack-fmith  aiked  the  hoffler 

where- 


IN    HIS    FLIGHT,  317 

where  his  guefts  came  from,  who  anfwering,  that, 
by  their  own  account,  they  came  from  Exeter  : 
they  impofe  upon  you,  replied  the  fmith,  with  a 
countenance  full  of  the  important  difcovery, 
thefe  (hoes  were  made  down  in  the  north.  The 
heftier,  from  this  obfervation,  recollecting  that 
the  four  horfemen  had  ordered  their  horles  to 
remain  faddled,  and  had  not  befpoke  beds  for 
themfelves,  he  concluded,  at  firit,  that  they  were 
certainly  people  of., quality  belonging  to  the 
king's  army,  which  had  been  defeated  near 
Worcefter  ;  and  afterwards,  that  it  might,  very 
poflibly,  be  the  king  himfelf.  Upon  the  ftrength 
of  this  conjecture;  he  went  to  the  miniiter  of  the 
parifh,  a  violent  parliamentarian,  and  communi- 
cated his  fufpicions  to  him.  The  minifter  was, 
at  that  moment,  engaged  in  prayer,  and  would 
not  be  interrupted.  But  the  noife  of  this  ad- 
venture gaining  ground,  as  the  blackfmith,  on 
his  fide,  had  not  failed  to  circulate  it,  the  mini- 
fter  took  fire,  and  went  to  a  juftice  of  the  peace. 
Immediately  the  whole  town  is  up  in  arms, 
fearching  for  the  Grangers,  and  a  party  is  feat 
off  after  them,  by  the  road  which  they  were  ken 
to  take.  The  king  could  not  poflibly  have  ef. 
caped  them,  if,  inftead  of  keeping  the  main  road, 
he  had  not  turned  lhort,  and  made  the  bell  of 
his  way,  by  crofs  roads,  to  Saliihury. 

We  cannot  fufficiently  admire  his  continuing 
undiscovered  during  the  remainder  of  his  wan- 
derings. The  whole  country  was  full  of  troops, 
marching  in  every  direction  5  at  every  iftep  he 
was  furrounded  by  them.  He  no  fooner  flopped 
at  an  inn,  but  the  foldiers, .officers,  whole  com- 
D  d  3  panics 


3*8    ADVENTURES  OF  CHARLES  II.  • 

pnnies  enter  the  place.  Juft  as  he  was  going  td 
ftcp  into  a  fhip,  which  ha<i  been  prepared  for  him1 
at  Southampton,  there  came  up  a  battalion  of 
foldiers,  ordered  for  Jerfey,  and  took  povleflicn" 
*>f  it  before  his  face  :  at  length,  a  frcnd  contri- 
ved to  procure  him  a  fmall  bark  at  Shoreham,  in' 
SufTex,  upon  the  application  of  a  Mr.  Manfell, 
a  rich  merchant  of  that  quarter.  They  met  at' 
night,  in  a  houfe  not  far  from  the  harbour,  end 
Charles  waited  on  Sir  John  Wilmot  at  table, 
who  had  kept  Mr.  Manfell  to  flipper,  and  the 
captain  of  the  bark,  whofe  name  was  Tatter- 
fhall.  Supper  being  over,  they  were  preparing' 
to  go  aboard  ;  and  the  king  expecled  now  to 
have  no  further  rifks  to  run,  except  thofe  of  the 
voyage,  when  the  captain,  taking  the  opportu- 
nity of  his  being  alone  with  Mr.  Manfell,  ad- 
dreiTed  him  thus  :  You  have  deceived  me,  faid 
lie,  and  your  cnterprizing  fpirit,  might  have  coft 
me  my  life.  Mi.  Manfell,  who  appeared  igno- 
jrapf  of  the  matter  himfelf,  ufed  every  effort  to 
perfuade  him,  that  the  idea  was  without  founda- 
tion ;  and  at  length,  Sir  John  Wilmot,  over- 
hearing.them,  came  in,  and  plied  him  foftrongly 
with  money  and  promifes,  that  he  overcame  his' 
refinance.  Crptain  Tatterfhall  ran  home  im- 
mediately, and  afked  his  wife  for  linen  and  pro- 
yifions.  1  du  are  in  a  great  hurry,  faid  fhe,  why 
not  wait  till  to-morrow  ;  and  as  he  continued 
tin-g  her  to  make  hade  ;  Wei!,  faid  Hie,  1  fee 
it  is  for  the  king.  God  give  you  fuccefs,  and 
him  too.  The  attempt  is  hazardous;  but  pro- 
■  i  fave  him,  I  am   fatisfied    to  beg  my 


THE       H    A    f.  p$ 

own  and  my  children's  bread,  all  my  life.  Ani- 
mated by  thefe  words,  Tatterfhall  went  to  gite 
the  neceffary  orders,  that  his  bark  mould  be 
in  readinefs  to  fail  the  next  morning  at  five 
o'clock.  It  took  up  the  king  at  the  appointed 
place  ;  ,and  his  taking  leave  of  his  faithful 
friends,  was  a  very  tender  fcene.  Mr.  Manfell, 
approaching  him  the  la(t,  took  him  by  the  hand, 
and  killing  it  with  fervor,  I  was  willing,  faid  he, 
to  have  been  deceived  by  your  majefty  :  I  pray 
God,  that  you  may  arrive  in  fafety,  at  your  port> 
and  return,  very  foon,  in  peace,  to  thefe  your 
realms.  Charles  anfwered  him,  fmiling,  that  he 
would  then  remember  a  fervice  which  was  done 
him  with  fo  good  a  grace.  The  bark  foon  loft 
fight  of  the  more,  and  had  (o  favourable  a  courfo 
the  whole  day,  that  they  anchored,  the  fame 
night,  at  Feicamp,  from  whence  the  king  fat  out 
for  Paris,  and  arrived  there  Odober30,  1651. 


T     H    E      ~B    A     TV 

A  COUNTRYMAN  came,  one  day,  into" 
a  (hop,  in  the  city,  and  laying  his  hat 
en  the  counter,  begged  the  mafter  of  the  (hop,  to 
l?nd  him  half  a  guinea  upon  it,  as  a  pledge.  Do 
you  take  me  for  a  madman,  faid  the  matter  of 

the 


2*o  T    H    E       H    A    T. 

the  (hop?  it  is  againft  the  law,  and  if  it  were  not* 
that  fhabby  hat  is  not  worth  two-pence.     Such 
as  it  is,  replied  the  countryman,  1  would  not  give 
it  for  five  guineas,  and  yet  1  have  very  urgent  oc- 
caiion  for  the  furn  that  1  afk.      I  fold  my  corn 
at  the  market,   a  week  ago,  to  a  mealman,  who 
was  to  pay  me  to-day  j    and  I  depended   upon 
having  it  to  make  up  my  rent,  which  has  been 
fo  long  due,  that  if  it  is  not  paid  to-morrow,  as 
I  promifed  it  mould,  I  expedt  to  be  diitrained  for 
ir.     But  the  poor  meal-man  is  almoft  broke,  he 
has  lately  buried  his  only  fon,  a  grown-up  youth, 
and  now,  this  hit  week,  his  wife  died  of  grief,  fo 
that  I  cannot  be  paid  until  next  market-day. 
As  I  often  come  into  your  fliop,  to  buy  things, 
and   you   know   me  to  be  an  honeft  man,   I 
thought  you  would  not  make  much  difficulty  a- 
bout  lending  me  half  a  guinea  :  it  is  nothing  in 
your  pocket,  but  is  a  great  matter  to  me  :  at  all 
hazards,  there  is  my  hat,  to  anfwer  for  the  mo- 
ney, and  a  better  lecurity  than  you  think.     The 
tradefman  anfwered  him  only  with  a  fneer,  and, 
turning  upon  his  heel,  attended  to  other  perfons 
who  were  in  the  (hop. 

Sir  George  Liberal  happened  to  be  one  of 
them  :  he  had  liitened,  with  attention,  to  the 
country  man's  difcourfe,  and  was  (truck  with  the 
air  of  honefty,  that  was  apparent  in  his  counte- 
nance. He  approached  him  gently,  and  putting 
half  a  guinea  into  his  hand,  Here  is  the  money 
that  you  want,  fa  id  he,  (ince  you  find  people  fo 
Joth  to  oblige  you,  1  will  be  your  friend,  without 
a  pledge.  With  thefe  words,  he  went  out  of  the 
fhop,  eying  the  mailer  of  it  with  much  con- 
tempt ; 


T    H    E        HAT.  £** 

fempf;  and  bis  carriage  was  gone  a  good  dif-  : 
tance  off,  before  the  countryman  had  recovered 
from  the  emotions  of  his  joy  and  amazement. 

About  a  month  after,  as  fir  George  Liberal 
was  going  in  his  chariot,  up  the  Hay- market,  he 
heard  fomebody  call  out,   feveral  times,  to  his 
coachman,  to  flop,   but  to  no  purpofe,  for  the 
coachman  drove  brifkly  on,  without  paying,  any 
regard  to  him  :  at  the  fame  time,   Sir  George 
looking  cut,  faw  a  man  upon  the  footway^  run- 
ning, with  all  fpeed,  to  overtake  the  carriage  ; 
he,  therefore,  drew  the  firing,  to  make  the  coach- 
man (lop.     Immediately,  the  man  fprings  to  the 
coach-door,  crying,    I   beg  your  pardon,  Sir — I 
have  run  myfelf  out  of  breath,  to  overtake  you  ;- 
Did  not  you,  Sir,  about  a  month  ago,  put  half  a  • 
guinea  into  my  hand,  in  a  (hop  in  the  city  ?— 
Why,  yes,  I  remember  famething  of  it — Wellr 
Sir,  here  is  the  money,  which  I  return  you,  with 
many  thanks.     You  did  not  give  me  time  to 
thank  you  then,  much  lefs  to  afk  your  name  and 
addrefs  ;  and  the  man  of  the  (hop  did  not  know 
you.     I  came  to  town,  every  week,    with  my 
own  hay  and  corn,  in  hopes  that  I  might,  fome 
time  or  other,  have  the  good  fortune  to  meet 
with  you  :  luckily,   I  faw  you  as  you  paffed  up 
the  ftreet.     I  (hould  never  have  been  happy,  if  I 
had  not  had  the  opportunity  of  paying  my  ac- 
knowledgments to  you ;  and   may   Heaven  be- 
f:ow  upon  you  the  recompenfe  which  your  ge- 
nerofity  deferves.     1  am  happy,  faid  Sir  George3 
in  having  obliged  fo  honed:  a  man  as  you  feera 
lo  be ;  but  I  confefs  to  you,  I  did  not  expect  to 
fee  the  money  returned  me.     I  intended  it  as  a 

tmztt 


322  THE        HA    T> 

frnall  prefent  to  you. — That  is  more  than  F 
knew,  Sir  ;  and  befides,  I  make  a  conference  of 
not  receiving  money  that  I  do  not  earn.  I  had 
done  nothing  for  you,  and  yon  had  ferved  me 
fufficiently,  by  lending  me  the  fum  in  queftion. 
Let  me  beg  you,  therefore,  to  receive  it  again. 
No,  my  good  friend,  it  belongs  neither  to  you 
nor  me,  now  :  Do  me  the  pleafure  to  buy  fome- 
thing  with  it  for  your  children,  and  give  it  to 
them  as  a  prefent  from  me.  Sir,  your  proceed- 
ing is  very  genteel,  and  it  would  be  uncivil  in 
me  to  refufe  your  offer.  Well,  then,  fay  no 
more,  the  matter  is  finifhed.  But  pray  explain 
one  particular  tome,  which  has  not  ceafed  to 
engage  my  euriofity,  ever  fince  I  law  you  :  How 
could  ycu  have  the  conference  to  afk  half  a  gui- 
nea on  your  hat,  which  was  fcarcely  worth  a 
groat  ?  Ah  !  Sir,  it  is  worth  every  thing  to  me. 
How  fo,  pray  ?  I  will  give  you  the  hiftory  of  it. 
Some  years  fince,  my  landlord's  fori,  Aiding  on 
a  pool  in  his  father's  grounds,  fell  through  the 
ice.  I  happened  to  be  at  work  near  the  place, 
and  hearing  fome  people  cry  out,  who  faw  the 
child  (ink  ;  J  ran  to  the  fpot,  and  throwing  my- 
felf  into  the  water  with  my  clothes  on,  juft  as  I 
was,  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  fave  the  child, 
and  to  reftore  him  alive  to  his  father :  my  land- 
lord did  not  forget  this  for  vice  ;  he  gave  me  a 
faug  farm,  in  addition  to  what  little  land  I  held 
under  him  before,  which  was  not  much  more 
than  a  cabbage-garden,  fupplied  me  with  flock, 
and  utenfils  ofhufbandry,  and  in  fhort  fet  me  up 
completely  in  my  frnall  farm.     But  this  was  not 

all. 


THE        H    A    f .  323 

all.  As  T  had  loft  my  hat  in  the  water,  he  placed 
his  own  upon  my  head,  faying  at  the  fame  time., 
that  he  could  have  wifhed  to  place  a  crown 
upon  it.  You  fee,  Sir,  if  I  have  not  reafon  to 
be  fond  of  this  hat.  I  never  wear  it  in  the  country? 
every  thing  there  reminds  me  of  my  benefactor, 
though  he  has  been  dead  fome  time.  My 
children,  my  wife,  my  cottage,  my  land,  all 
feem  to  fpeak,  as  it  were,  continually  of  him  to 
my  remembrance,  But  whenever  I  come  to 
town,  I  always  put  on  this  hat,  that  I  may  have 
fomething  about  me  to  put  me  in  mind  of  him. 
lam  only  forry  that  it  begins  to  grow  old.  You 
fee,  Sir,  it  is  going;  but  as  long  as  a  bit  of  it 
remains  together,  it  (hall  be  ineftimable  in  my 
eyes. 

Mr  George  felt  great  pleafure  from  this  recital 
of  the  countryman,  and  taking  out  his  card, 
here,  faid  he,  farmer,  take  this,  it  contains  my 
addrefs,  [  am  obliged  to  quit  you  now,  but  (hall 
be  glad  to  fee  you  at  my  houfe  next  Sunday 
morning. 

The  countryman  did  not  fail  to  come,  at  the 
time  appointed  :  as  foon  as  the  fervant  carried 
in  his  name,  Sir  George  himfelf  came  out  to 
receive  him,  and,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  he 
iaid,  my  worthy  friend,  you  have  not,  it  is  true, 
faved  me  an  only  fon,  but  you  have,  neverthelefs, 
performed  me  a  very  confiderable  fervice  ;  you 
have  taught  me  to  love  mankind  becter  than  I 
did  before,  by  proving  to  me,  that  there  are  itill 
hearts  replete  with  honefty  and  gratitude.  Since 
hats  figure  to  ftsch  advantage  on  your  head,  here 

is 


324  THE       HA    T. 

is  one  that  I  wifh  you  to  accept  as  a  prefent  :  I 
do  not  dciire,  however,  that  you  fhould  leave 
off  that  of  your  benefactor  ;  only  when  it  is  in- 
capable of  being  worn  longer,  I  beg  the  reverfiort 
of  your  head  for  this  ;  and  every  year,  on  this 
fame  day5  you  will  find  a  new  one  here  to  re- 
place  it. 

This  was  no  more  than  a  genteel  pretext, 
which  Sir  George's  delicacy  fiSggeftedi  to  him,  in 
order  to  avoid  hurting  the  countryman's  pride  : 
he  knew,  very  well,  that  we  fhould  endeavour 
not  to  humble  thole  whom  we  oblige,  but  to 
raife  them  in  their  own  opinion.  After  having 
gained  his  heart  by  this  iirft  tie  or  friendmip,  he 
acquired  fufficient  afcendancy  over  him,toaiTumc 
the  right  of  conferring  the  moft  etTentia!  benefits 
on  him  and  his  family,  and  of  repairing  the 
loffes  which  they  had  fuftained  by  unavoidable 
ftrokes  of  fortune.  He  had  finally  the  fatis- 
faction  of  feeing  them  nearly  as  happy  in  their 
gratitude,  as  he  himfelf  was  in  his  generofity. 


LITTLE 


{  3*5   ) 


LITTLE    GRANDISON. 

h  Letter  from  William  D—  to  his  Mo- 
ther. 


ODear  mama  !  every  body  here  is  in  the 
greateft  confirmation.  Charges  went  out 
eany  this  morning,  on  horfeback,  attended  by  a 
fervant,  in  order  to  pay  a  vifit  to  a  friend  five  or 
fix  miles  off:  and  only  think,  he  is  not  returned 
yet.  His  father  had  defired  him  to  be  home  be- 
fore five  o'clock,  and  it  is  now  part  nine.  Never 
before,  did  he  difobey  the  commands  of  his  pa- 
rents. Something  muft  have  happened  to  him. 
It  is  a  very  dark  night,  and  a  dreadful  thick  fog. 
Mr.  Grandifon  has  iuft  fent  off  a  fervant,  to 
make  enquiry  about  his  fon.  How  impatiently 
do  I  expect  his  return  ! 

Eleven  o'clock. 
What  diftrefs  !  The  fervant  is  returned  from 
the  hotife  where  Charles  went  to  fpend  the  day. 
Charles  had  left  it  with  his  fervant,  before  four 
o'clock.  What  can  have  become  of  him  ?  Can 
he  have  gone  aftray  in  the  foreft,  or  fallen  from 
his  horfe  ?  Who  can  tell  ?  Or  have  fome  vil- 
E  e  lains 


326  LITTLE    GRANDISON. 

lains  robbed  and  murdered  him  ?  Good  heaven  ! 
Mrs.  Grandifon  will  die,  with  apprehenfion.  Fa- 
mily does  nothing  but  weep.  Edward  is  like 
one  diftraited  ;  he  runs  every  moment  up  ftairs, 
and  into  the  yard.  Air.  Grandifon  endeavours 
to  comfort  his  wife  ;  but  it  is  eafy  to  fee  that 
himfelf  is  in  the  deeper!  affliction.  He  lias  juft 
fent  out  men  on  horfeback,  different  way?,  to  en- 
deavour to  rind  poor  Charles.  If  it  were  not  for 
leaving  his  wife  in  her  prefent  diftreis,  he  would, 
before  this  time,  have  hurried  out  in  fearch  of 
his  fon.  Oh  !  that  I  had  gone  with  my  friend  ! 
I  mould,  at  lead,  have  (hared  all  his  dangers  : 
but  Tvlrs.  Grandifon  infifted  that  1  mould  flay  at 
home,  on  account  of  a  flight  cold.  Perhaps,  if 
I  had  entreated  her  preflingly,  Que  would  have 
fuffered  me  to  go  with  him.  I  am  quite  unhap- 
py. I  know  not  how  I  fupport  my  affliction.  I 
can  no  longer  hold  the  pen.  I  do  not  fee  what 
I  write. 

One  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

No  Charles  yet.  Not  a  foul  has  gone  to  bed. 
Indeed,  who  could  reft  ?  The  fervants  wring 
their  hands  :  Edward  and  Emily  cry  incefTantly, 
O,  brother  !  brother  !  and  this  increafes  my  un- 
happinefs.     I  wifh  it  were  morning. 

Half  after  fix  in  the  morning. 

God  be  praifed,  mama,  we  have  news  of 
Charles.  The  fervant,  who  was  with  him,  is 
juft  returned.  No  accident  has  happened  to  my 
friend.  It  is  not  his  fault  that  he  caufed  us 
fo  much  uneannefs  :  he  ftaid  out  neither  through 
carelefTnefs  nor  for  pleafure.     Far  from  deferv- 


LITTLE     GRANDISON.  327 

ing  to  be-  blamed,  he  is  worthy  of  the  higheft 
praife.  Oh  !  when  you  (hall  hear  his  adven- 
ture !  But  Mr.  Grandifon  abfolutely  infifts,  that 
we  all  go  and  lie  down  for  a  few  hours,  to  reco- 
ver ourfelves5  after  the  fatigues  and  anxiety  of 
the  night  ;  and  we  muft  obey.  Farewell,  ma- 
ma, until  I  awake.  My  fir  ft  care  mail  be  to 
write  to  you.  1  will  rife  two  hours  the  fooner., 
-on  purpofe. 

Nine  o'clock. 

I  will  now  tell  you  the  whole  ftory,  mama, 
from  the  account  given  us  by  the  fervant.  His 
young  mafterand  himfelf,  had  fet  out  before  four 
o'clock,  as  I  mentioned,  in  order  to  be  at  home 
by  the  time  that  Mr.  Grandifon  had  fixed  for 
their  return.  They  had  fcarcely  come  the  fourth 
part  of  the  way,  when  it  began,  all  at  once,  to 
grow  dark.  There  came  on  fo  thick  a  fog,  that 
one  could  not  diftinguifh  an  object  atthediftance 
of  two  yards.  Charles,  who  is  naturally  cou- 
rageous, did  not  make  himfelf  the  lead  uneafy. 
They  held  on  their  way,  at  a  full  trot,  when 
fuddenly  they  perceived,  ftraight  before  them,  a 
man,  itretched  at  his  full  length,  on  the  road. 
What  is  here?  cried  Charles,  flopping  his  horfe. 
I  fuppofe,  replied  the  fervant,  fomebody  that  has 
taken  a  glafs  too  much.     Let  us  go  on,  mailer. 

No,  faid  Charles,  if  it  be  a  man  in  liquor,  we 
mud  remove  him,  at  lead  out  of  the  coach  way, 
for  fear  that  fome  carriage,  palling  by,  fhould  go 
over  him,  in  the  dark."  He  had  not  faid  thefe 
words,  before  he  was  on  the  ground  :  but  v  hat 
was  his  lurprize,  when  approaching  the  unrortu- 
Ee2  nate 


328  LITTLE    GRANDISON; 

nate  Granger,  he  perceived  him  to  be  an  old  on' 
eer,  in  regimentals*     Ke  had  a  large  wound  irt 
his  head,  from  whricfi  the  blood  flowed  in  abun- 
dance.    Charles  fpoke  to  him,  but  he  returned 
no  anfwer. 

It  is  a  dead  man,  cried  the  fervant,  who  had 
alio  alighted. 

No,  no  ;  he  is  ftill  alive,  faid  Charles.  He  is 
Only  in  a  fwoon.     Heavens  !   what  (hall  we  do? 

What  can  we  do?  replied  the  fervant  ;  we 
mud  go  on  ;  then  we  can  call  at  the  fir  ft  village, 
and  fend  fomebbdy  to  his  affiftance. 

How  unfeeling  you  are,  John,  cried  Charles, 
with  vivacity  ;  before  the  perfons  that  we  might 
be  able  to  icnd^  fhculd  arrive  here,  this  poor  gen- 
tleman would  be  dead.  See  what  a  quantity  of 
blood  he  lias  loft.  Fatten  our  horfes  to  thefe 
trees.  We  muft  ourfelves  give  him  whatever 
afiiftance  we  can. 

How,  Sir  r  faid  John  ;  fure  you  are  not  feri* 
©us.  It  will  be  dark  night  piefently  ;  and  we 
ftlall  never  be  able  to  find  our  way  home,  in  this 
fog. 

Charles\     Well,  then,  we  will  ftay  here. 

y^bn.  And  what  will  mafter  and  miftrefs 
fay  ?  You  may  ^uefs  how  uneafy  they  will  be. 

Ckarks*  Oh  !  that  is  very  true.  I  never 
thought  of  that. 

Charles  was  going  to  mount  his  horfe  again, 
but  turning  his  eyes,  which  were  filled  with  tears, 
toward  the  officer,  he  felt  himfelf  held  to  the 
fpot  by  a  fecret  power.  No,  unfortunate  foldi- 
er,  cried  he,  I.  will  no:  leave  you  in  this  deplora- 
ble 


LITTLE    GRANDISQN.  329 

blv  fituation.  My  parents  cannot  be  angry  with 
rne  for  it.  1  will  not  fuffer  a  fellow  creature  to 
perifh,  without  doing  every  thing  in  my  power  to 
relieve  him. 

As  he  laid  thefe  words,  he  took  off  his  clothes 
in  hafte,  and  tore  his  vvaiftcoat  in  two  pieces. 

John.      What  are  you  doing  there,  matter  ? 

Charles.  I  rnuft  bind  up  his  forehead,  to  flop 
the  wounds. 

'John.     But,  Sir 

Charles.  Do  not  fay  a  word  more,  but  come 
and  afTift  me. 

He  then  doubled  his  handkerchief  in  four  folds, 
and  bound  the  gentleman's  head  with  it,  which 
was  mil  bleeding  plentifully,  and  taking  one  fide 
of  his  waiftcoat,  folded  in  length,  he  applied  it  to 
keep  the  bandage  on  fart,  with  pins.  Afterwards, 
affifted  by  John,  he  lifted  the  unfortunate  Grang- 
er out  of  the  high  road,  and  carried  him  on  the 
grafs. 

What  mall  we  do  now.  Sir?  faid  John, 

Charles.  You  mull  gallop  to  the  firit  village, 
and  bring  fome  people  to  convey  this  poor  gen- 
tleman to  a  farm  houfe.  I  will  pay  them  for 
their  trouble,  and,  in  the  mean  time,  I  (hail  wait 
here  for  you. 

John.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  mould  do  as  you 
fay,  No,  Maftef  Charles,  I  will  do  no  fuch 
.thing,  What,  leave  you  all  alone  in  this  folita- 
ry  place  ?  Your  father  would  never  forgive  me 
for  it. 

Charles.  I  take  the whole  upon  myfelf,  and  I 
infill  that  you  obey  me. 

£  e  3  John 


330*  LITTLE    CRANDISON. 

John,  Well,  Sir,  fince  you  order  me  fo  posi- 
tively, I  have  nothing  more  to  fay.  But  remem- 
ber at  leafr. — 

Charles.     I  will  remember  every  thing. 

John  fat  off,  therefore,  as  fail  as  his  horfe  could 
gallop.  A  little  farther  on  the  road,  he  found  a 
cottage,  in  which  were  two  men  at  work,  making 
wicker  bafkets,  with  feveral  women  and  children. 
He  opened  the  door,  and,  addrcfllng-himfelf  to 
the  head  of  the  family,  he  requeued  him  to  come3 
with  his  elded  fon,  to  the  aflifrance  of  an  old  offi- 
cer, who  had  fallen  on  the  road,  and  was  welter- 
ing in  his  blood.  They  fhewed,  at  nrft,  fome 
unwillingnefs  to  go  out,  on  fuch  a  dark  night,  at 
the  defire  of  a  perfect  flranger.  But,  at  length, 
|'.erfuaded  by  the  entreaties  of  John,  and  by  the 
Sincerity  that  appeared  in  his  protections,  -they, 
went  to  fetch  a  fort  of  bier,  and  then  accompa- 
nied him. 

During  all  this  time,  Charles  had  not  quitted 
the  old  gentleman's  fide,  a  moment,  and,  by  dint 
of  care,  had  brought  him  to  his  fenfes  again. 

Shall  I  take  the  liberty,  Sir,  to  afk  your  name, 
/aid  he,  as  foon  as  he  faw  him  open  his  eyes,  and 
by  what  accident  you  came  to  be  in  this  condi- 
tion ? 

My  name  is  Arthur,  replied  tlie  old  man,  in- 
a   weak,   tremulous  voice.     I  am  major   in  the 

regiment.     I   had  come  from  my  own 

houfe,  intending  to  take  a  ride.  My  horfe  ftum- 
bled  on  the  road,  hereabouts,  and,  in  his  fall, 
threw  me  over  his  neck.  My  head  muck  agaihft 
a  ftone.  I  endeavoured  to  get  up,  but  v\hat  with 
jpaifi,  lofs  of  blood,  and  the  w  eaknefs  of  old  age,  I 

fainted 


LITTLE    GRANDISOR  333 

fainted  away,  and  cannot  tell  what  happened  to 
me  from  that  moment.  But  you,  amiable  child, 
who  fo  feelingly  companionate  my  misfortune^ 
is  it  you,  that  have  dreflfed  my  wound*  and  faved 
my  life  r 

Charles.  Yes,  Sir,  and  i  am  happy  to  have 
had  it  in  my  power  to  ferve  you.  I  had  a  fer- 
vant  with  me:  him  I  have  fent  to  the  next  vil- 
lage, to  procure  you  lodging,  and  afliftance  more 
effectual  than  mine,  - 

The  major*  What,  have  you  had  the  courage 
to  ftay  by  my  fide,  in  this  lonely  place,  notwith- 
standing the  darknefs  of  the  night !  Young  as 
you  are,  you  have  paid  the  moft  humane  atten- 
tion to  me,     What  thanks  do  I  owe  you  ! 

Charles.  None,  Sir.  I  have  but  done  my  du- 
ty, and  (hail  count  myfelf  happy,  if  1  can-  be  mil 
farther  ufeful  to  you.  „ 

This  difcourfe  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival 
of  John,  with  the  two  men.  They  placed  the 
major  on  the  bier,  on  which  they  had,  previoufly, 
laid  a  good  mattrafs  :  but,  in  fpite  of  the  pains 
that  they  took  to  convey  him  gently,  the  making 
of  the  bier,  as  they  walked  along,  revived  the 
pain  of  his  wound,  fo  that  he  fell  again  into  a 
fainting  fit. 

Charles  having  given  his  horfe  to  John  folead5 
walked  in  filence  by  the  fide  of  the  bier,  and 
mewed  every  fort  of  attention  poffible,  to  the 
wounded  perfon,  in  order  to  make  him  recover 
his  fpirits.  When  they  came  to  the  door  of  the 
cottage,  he  made  one  of  the  countrymen  mount 
his  horfe,  and  difpatched  him,  with  all  fpeed,  for 
a  furgeon. 

Neverthefefs, 


2'Sz  LITTLE     GRAND1SON. 

Neverthelefs,  John  ufed  the  moft  earned  per- 
fuafions  to  induce  bis  young  mailer  to  return 
home,  and  reprefented  to  him  the  terrors  which 
his  parents  muit  feel,  on  account  of  his  ftay. 

What,  faid  Charles,  fhould  I  leave  th.s  old 
man  to  die  in  the  hands  of  ftrangers  !  You  fee, 
he  is  ftili  infenfible.  I  fhould  have  done  nothing 
for  him,  were  I  to  leave  him  now.  No,  no,  I 
will  fpend  the  night  by  his  fide. 

John.  How,  Mafter  Charles  !  You  do  not 
fay  fo? 

Charles.  My  refokition  is  fixed.  Do  you 
haften  home  to  my  father  and  mother  ;  tell  them 
every  thing  that  has  happened,  that  they  may 
not  be  uneafy  on  my  account.  Tell  them  thaJ 
I  will  wait  their  orders,  here,  to-morrow. 

John.  Really^  Sir,  it  is  what  I  cannot  think 
of  doing.  My  mafter  would  receive  mc  finely, 
if  I  were  to  return  without  you. 

It  muft  be  fo,  for  all  that,  replied  Charles,  in 
a  firm  tone  of  voice.  Do  not  lofe  time.  It  is 
night  already. 

It  v/as  in  vain  that  John  protefted  a^ainft 
what  he  called  the  imprudence  of  his  young 
mafter  :  he  was  obliged  to  go. 
1  Charles  was  eafie.t  then,  fuppofing  that  his 
parents  would  (oon  hear  of  him  :  but  there  was 
another  unlucky  accident  ftill  deftined  to  befall 
them  j  the  fog  grew  thicker  and  thicker,  the 
night  grew  darker,  and  John,  lofing  his  way  in 
a  wood  thruL.  h  he  was  to  pais,  and   not 

knowing  by  what  courfe  he  was  to  get  out  of  it, 
was  obliged,  after  many  ir/efFeclual  fcampers,  to 
him!:lr   at   the   foot   of  a  tree,  and  there 

XQ 


ElTTL'E    GRANDISON*.  333 

ib  wait  for  daylight,  leaving  us,  all  the  while, 
in  the  molt  terrible  alarm.  The  poor  man  was 
quite  exhaufted  with'  cold  and  wearinefs,  when  he 
came  home  this  morning.  Notwithstanding  his 
hurry  to  come,  he,  was  afraid  to  fhew  himfelf, 
left  he  mould  be  turned  away.  I  cannot  defcribe 
to  you  his  furprize,  when,  after  finishing  his  fto- 
ry,  he  heard  Mr.  Granuifon  cry  out.  How  much 
ought  I  to  blefs  heaven  for  haying  given  mefuch 
a  fon  !  And  you,  John,  have  done  very  well,  to 
obey  his  orders  in  every  refpeel:.  Here  are  two 
guineas,  to  make  you  amends  foryqurbad  night. 
Go,  rcfrefh  ycurfelf,  and  take  .a  little  fleep,  that 
you  may  be  able  to  go  back  to  my  fon.  I  am 
not  theleaft  angry  with  him  for  ah  the  uneaiinefs 
that  he  has  caufed  us.  He  did  e\Qry  thing  in  his 
power  to  relieve  us  from  it. 

But  how  will  my  friend  be  grieved,  when  he 
learns  from  John  what  we  ourfelves  have  fufTer- 
ed  !  John  is  fet  off  already.  I  faw  Mr.  Gran- 
difon  give  him  a  purfe  of  money  for  his  Ton,  that 
he  may  have  wherewithal  to  provide  every  thing 
neceffary.  I  am  impatient  now  to  know  whe- 
ther the  poor  major  be  alive  or  dead.  I  hope 
foon  to  be  able  to  give  you  feme  account  of  him. 
Farewell,  dear  mama,  continue  to  love  me,  and 
love  alfo  my  friend  Charles3  for  his  courage., 
prefence  of  mindj  and  humanity. 

Eleven  o'clock. 

At  laft,  mama,  Charles  is  returned.  With 
what  transport  did  I  embrace  him  I  He  appear- 
ed an  angel  in  my  eyes.  Thanks  to  his  care, 
the  major  is  much  better.  His  hurt  will  foon  be 
cured, 

Charles 


334  LITTLE    GRANDISOK. 

Charles  arrived  much  fooner  than  we  expell- 
ed. Emily  was  the  lirft  who  faw  him  !  She 
fcreamed  out  with  joy  and  furprize,  Charles  I 
Charles  !  and  ran  precipitately  to  meet  him  : 
they  came  in,  killing  each  other.  Charles  quit- 
ted her  at  the  door,  to  fly  to  his  father.  He 
threw  him felf  at  his  feet,  and  did  not  rife  from 
thence,  till  he  perceived  his  mother  hold  out  her 
arms  to  embrace  him.  I  will  relate  to  you,  word 
for  word,,  the  difcourfe  that  paffed  between  them, 
I  fliall  never  forget  it  as  long  as  I  live. 

Charles,  Can  you  pardon  me,  my  dear  pa- 
rents, for  having  caufed  you  lb  much  uneafnefs? 

Mr.  Grand'ijon.  Pardon  you,  my  fon  ?  nay, 
rather  let  me  embrace  you  a  thoufand  and  a 
thoufand  times.  You  have  performed  your  du- 
ty to  a  fellow  creature,  without  forgetting,  at  the 
fame  time,  your  duty  to  us.  I  thought  it  im- 
poffible  for  me  to  love  you  more  than  I  did.  But 
how  was  I  miftaken  ! 

Charles*     Your  goodnefs  overwhelms  me,  pa- 

Mr,  Grandifm.  Let  us  fay  no  more  on  the 
jubjefr,  my  dear.      Hew  goes  on  your  patient  ? 

Charles.  He  is  much  better  at  prefent,  though 
a  little  weakitill ;  but  the  furgeon  allured  me, 
that  his  hurt  was  not  the  teaft  dangerous. 

Mrs,  Grand'ijon.  Is  he  fr.il!  in  the  cottage  with 
i  poor  people  ?  Will  they  take  good  care  of 
him? 

Charles,  Oh,  mama,  do  not  beuneafy;  his 
fon  is  with  him.  As  foon  as  he  told  me  where 
he  lived,  I  fent  thither,  exprefs,  to  inform  the  fa- 
mily of  his  misfortune.      The  eldeft  of  his  Tons 

came 


LITTLE    GRANDISON.  33$ 

.  cams  immediately.  What  was  my  fatisfaclion, 
when  I  jaw  the  wounded  father  in  'the  arms  of 
him  whom  he  held  mod  dear  !  • 

Mr.  Grandifon.     And  will  the  major  be  able 
,  to  procure  hi.mfelf  every  thing  that  is  neceffary  ? 
Charles.     Oh,  yes,  papa,  he  is  very  rich  ;   and 
.here  is  your  purfe,  as  you  fent  it  me.     I  had  no 
occafion  to  make  ufe  of  it. 

Adr.  Grandfm.  No  matter  j  it  is  your's5  my 
■  dear. 

Charles.     Mine,  papa;? 

Mr.  Grandifon.  Yes,  Charles,  I  give  it  to 
you  as  a  token  of  my  fatisfaction  :  I  am  fure  you 
will  not  open  ir,  uniefs.for  a  goodpurpofe.  Con- 
tinue to  be,  all  your  lifetime,  fuch  as  you  have 
iliewn  yourfelf  to-day,  and  never  let  your  heart 
be  hardened  .againft  the  misfortunes  oi\your  fel- 
:  Sow- creatures. 

Charles.  Oh  !  papa,  what  can  I  fay  ?  1  fear- 
ed your  reproaches,  and  you  overwhelm  me  with 
kindnefs. 

Mrs.  Grandson.  But  how  did  you  like  being 
.in  that  difmal  cabin  ? 

Charles.  I  confefs,  mama,  I  did  not  much 
mind  the  place.  I  had  nothing  before  my  eyes, 
•but  the  poor  old  man,  whom  I  was  afraid  of  fee- 
.ing  die,  every  moment, 

Mr.  Grandifon.  Then  you  have  not  flept  the 
whole  night  I 

Charles.  [  made  them  lay  fome  ftraw  by  the 
major's  bed  fide  ;  but  my  thoughts  of  the  unea- 
finefs  that  you,  my  brother,  my  nfter,  and  my 
friend,  mult  fuffer,  and  my  continual  fears  for 
the  poor  wounded  gentleman,  aii  together  con- 
tributed 


336  LITTLE    GRANBISON. 

tributed  to  banifh  fleep  from  my  eyelids.  Oh' ! 
if  [  could  have  thought  that  you  would  have 
been  a  whole  night,  without  knowing  what  was 
become  of  me,  how  would  my  mind  have  been 
tortured  !  I  ihould  have  come  home,  had  I  been 
obliged  to  grope  my  fteps  all  the  way  in  the 
dark. 

Mrs.  Grandlfon.  Kifs  me,  my  dear  boy,  and 
again  and  a^ain  :  but  I  will  not  indulge  myfelf 
in  the  pleafure  of  hearing  you  any  longer.  It  is 
full  time  for  you  to  go  and  take  a  little  reft. 

We  were  obliged,  therefore,  to  feparate,  and^ 
I  accompanied  him  to  his  chamber.  How  hap- 
py am  I,  faid  he,  fqueezing  mv  hand,  that  my 
parents  are  pleafed  with  my  conduct !  Notwith- 
(landing  the  fatisfaction  that  I  felt  in  ferving  the 
poor  major,  I  mould  never  have  enjoyed  comfort, 
had  I  made  them  angry. 

Dear,  amiable  friend,  cried  I,  embracing  him. 
It  was  all  that  I -could  fay,  mama  ;  my  eyes  were 
bathed  in  tears.,  my  breaft  heaved  with  fobs  ;  I 
could  not  tear  myfelf  from  his  arms.  Oh  !  how 
fweet  are  the  pleafures  of  fenlibility  !  and  what 
happinefs  it  is  to  have  a  virtuous  and  aifection- 
ate  friend  I 


.  END    OF    VOLUME    FIRST* 


•HUD    OF    V0" 


